


A Deeper Connection: A New Beginning

by ThroughPestilencesAndFamines



Series: A Deeper Connection [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Albus Dumbledore Bashing, Alchemy, Alternate Universe, BAMF Harry Potter, BAMF Voldemort, Dark Harry, Dark Lords, Death Eaters, Evil Albus Dumbledore, Goblins, M/M, Molly Weasley Bashing, Parasite Voldemort, Parent Severus Snape, Resurrection, Ron Weasley Bashing, Scheming, Slow Burn, Somewhat Good Voldemort (Harry Potter), Soulmates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-07
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:02:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 54,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25767880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThroughPestilencesAndFamines/pseuds/ThroughPestilencesAndFamines
Summary: After the first year of successfully manoeuvering Dumbledore's net of obstacles and schemes, Harry tries to resurrect the bodiless Dark Lord at Malfoy Manor. But did be succeed?
Relationships: Harry Potter & Severus Snape, Harry Potter & Tom Riddle | Voldemort, Harry Potter/Tom Riddle, Harry Potter/Voldemort
Series: A Deeper Connection [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1859383
Comments: 429
Kudos: 1578
Collections: BooksToMonitor, Greats fics currently ongoing, Harry Potter Centric Fanfiction, Waiting for updates





	1. Prologue: The Hand

**Author's Note:**

> I am back with Year Two :D
> 
> A big thank you to my two wonderful betas AliceNight and Silver_Flight for being with me on every step of this journey!!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Currently, this work is translated into:
> 
> Spanish by KatePeverell/Hades_Luzbel: https://www.wattpad.com/story/236029770-a-deeper-connection-a-new-beginning
> 
> Spanish by JeniferSiza: https://www.wattpad.com/story/254603706-a-deeper-connection-a-new-beginning
> 
> A Portuguese and a Russian translation are also currently in the works.
> 
> If you want to translate this work into another language, please ask for permission first and send me the link to wherever you are posting the translation. Currently, A Deeper Connection is being translated into Spanish, Portuguese & Russian.

Pain and darkness were imprisoning him, as the Dark Lord was slowly regaining consciousness. Thankfully, he had been out for most of the Resurrection Ritual, wandering the narrow path between consciousness and unconsciousness, as his soul had been reconnected with the bodily vessel which had been painstakingly rebuilt at an agonisingly slow pace within the large cauldron, as the Dark Phoenix tears, the Basilisk venom, and the Elixir of Life united and modified the three human components of the Resurrection Potion: the bone of Tom Riddle Senior, the flesh of Severus Snape, and the blood of his equal.

Now that the Resurrection Ritual had been completed, at least Tom hoped that it was indeed completed, the predominant feeling was pain, nothing but pain. Every nerve, every fibre, and every cell of his new body appeared to be on fire, much like he was being held under several highly potent Cruciatus Curses at the same time. Luckily, the pain was receding, although not as fast as he hoped. While most of his body was feeling slightly better with each passing second, the agonising fire in his lungs was steadily increasing. With his mind still being in a state of pain and haze, it took Tom almost to the point of passing out to realise the reason for the declining state of his lungs. He needed air.

Despite focussing every cell on the task, his new body did not obey. Sensing an agonising and rather degrading death for this new bodily vessel advancing on the horizon, the Dark Lord focussed all his energy, all his magic, and all his determination on the sole task of breathing. Finally, he felt his body obeying as his lips parted and the sweetest breath of air in his entire life filled his burning lungs. Focussing solely on the task of breathing, the pain in his lungs decreased with every passing breath, while his mind became clearer and clearer.

The first thing he realised was a terrible and truly terrifying void in his mind of something that had clearly been there before but was missing now. In the state that he was currently in, the Dark Lord could not identify whatever had been lost, although there were still faint traces of whatever it had been.

Before he could contemplate more on the missing part of his mind, a noise caught his attention. Since his mind was in a considerably better state now that there was oxygen in his body, it did not take him long to process the urgent nature of the noise that suspiciously sounded similar to Severus’ familiar drawl. Tom just had to see what it really was.

Once again focussing his limited energy resources on one thing only, his eyes slowly opened.

At first, he was blinded, his eyes not being used to any sort of light, despite the Ritual chamber still being illuminated by only a handful of sparsely distributed candles. Thankfully, his eyes soon adapted to the lighting conditions, and his vision became clearer. Finally, the noise made sense.

A few feet ahead, an unusually pale Severus Snape was kneeling in front of the lifeless form of Harry, the handless stump which was still bleeding, although not as profoundly as before, tightly pressed to his torso, while his other hand was shaking Harry, urging him, begging him to wake up to heal his wound.

Deep within, Tom knew that Harry was alive. How, he did not know. He just did, although he could not rationally explain it. What he could rationally explain, was that Harry was in no state to replace Severus’ severed hand. The slightly miscalculated Resurrection Ritual obviously had drained his magical reserves more than they had originally anticipated. A fact, which was underlined by Harry’s state of unconsciousness. There was only one way to rectify that.

“Sev… Severus,” the Dark Lord’s raspy, yet quiet words echoed through the Ritual Chamber trying to catch the desperate Potions Master’s attention, “Severus… Sev… Severus…”

Sadly, it did not work. Still, Tom had never been one to give up, trying his best to raise his voice, “Severus… Sev… Severus… Please, listen… Severus…”

Thankfully, somebody else had heard his words, or at least sensed that he was conscious.

“Severus,” Corvus Lestrange’s voice boomed through the Ritual chamber, sounding rather strained and tired, “our Lord…”

The Potions Master’s head turned, his onyx eyes filled with pain that he could no longer hide as he looked at Tom, before he started to plead, “My… my Lord, please, make him wake up. My injuries must be healed. You… you… He… Harry promised that there would be no lasting effects… I… I just need both of my hands… I cannot live without them…”

“Severus,” Tom managed to get out, reaching out his right hand to signal the desperate Potions Master to come closer, “Harry is in no state…”

“But he promised,” Severus exclaimed, pain and agony underlining his every word, “Harry promised to heal…”

“We promised,” Tom said, his voice having grown slightly firmer and steadier, “and I will keep my words. Your arm!”

“But” the Potions Master protested, “you are in no state yourself to heal me. Harry specifically told me…”

In an enormous display of strength, despite his very limited and weakened position on the floor, the Dark Lord managed to push himself forwards, leaving behind a trail of smudgy chalk, before he was close enough to Severus to grab the slippery, still bleeding stump. It might have been only a few feet, but Tom felt like he had just completed one of the most strenuous tasks of his life as his fingers were closing around the bloodied stump. Still, there was no time for resting. Ignoring the protest of the Potions Master, Tom focussed what little magic he had at his disposal on the task that was laying ahead of him. Since there was no way that his meagre reserves of magic would be enough to complete the healing, the Dark Lord tried to channel the magic of his surroundings. It appeared to be a futile endeavour since most of the naturally occurring magic of his surroundings had already been harvested throughout the Resurrection Ritual. Still, every bit of extra magic could be crucial.

At first, nothing happened. Just as Severus almost managed to break free from his hold, Tom felt something deep inside him, almost like a warm tingle. His magic finally responded, although it was a stark contrast to the endless amount of deliciously Dark Magic he used to have at his disposal. Suddenly, his fingers started to tingle as the first sparks of magic were channelled out of his weakened body.

Concentrating very hard on the vital information Harry had obtained over the last few months, the Dark Lord pushed forth his magic into the bleeding stump. Ignoring the strain on his weakened core and body, Tom stubbornly kept his eyes firmly glued on the stump. Much to his relief, new bone tissue, nerve fibres, and muscles started to grow, although slowly. Feeling the magic working on his wound, the Potions Master finally stopped his struggle, watching in wonder as his limb was being restored, cell by cell.

Once the internal components of the Potions Master’s left hand had been completed, Tom focussed his magic on recreating the skin, which was a highly complicated endeavour in itself given the high concentration of neural cells, especially inside the fingers. Ignoring the quickly advancing fatigue, Tom kept going on, every cell in his body concentrated on completing this single task no matter the cost. Fighting tooth and nail against his protesting body, his gaze continued to be firmly glued on the growing skin that slowly started to encompass the exposed bones, nerves, and muscles.

By the time the skin had reached the fingers, Tom was close to passing out, his body drained of most of its energy, his core close to being void of its magic, which very likely could prove to be fatal. But if the Dark Lord was one thing, then it was being stubborn. Gathering his strength one last time, he unleashed whatever he had left, forcing the skin to continue to grow. Relief briefly rushed through his hazy mind as the skin closed around the tips of the Potions Master’s fingers before darkness took him as his magic and energy had been depleted completely.


	2. A New Beginning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thank you to my two wonderful betas AliceNight and Silver_Flight!!!

As the Dark Lord was slowly drifting back towards consciousness, several thoughts crossed his still hazy, but overall, much clearer, and much more rested mind. Firstly, he had his body back. After a decade of being reduced to a sort of  _ tolerated _ parasite, the revelation in itself was rather mind-boggling. Secondly, his magical core had somehow survived the strenuous, almost impossible task of regrowing Severus’ hand moments after being resurrected. Hopefully, he had not made a mistake and the regrown hand had withered already or was flawed in some sort of way. At least he was sure that his magical core had miraculously remained undamaged, although it was still far from being completely replenished. That would take time, but time he had. And thirdly, there was a warm, comforting body holding his.

Before he could spend more thoughts on the latter revelation, his scalp began to tingle as gentle fingers slowly moved through the thick curls on his head. The fact that he had somehow managed to get a full head of hair after countless years of enduring baldness followed by a decade of not having a body at all was lost to the Dark Lord due to the pleasant feeling the warm fingers were brushing through his hair. A content sigh escaped Tom’s mouth as he leaned into the touch.

“I am glad that you are finally back amongst the living,” a voice very close to him whispered as the fingers continued to gently massage his scalp, “I was rather worried. You cannot imagine how relieved I am that you are finally awake, Tom.”

Making a non-committal sound, Tom simply leaned closer into the touch, simply enjoying the moment. For a long time, none of them said a word, content that both of them had survived the Resurrection Ritual. After a while, the voice next to him spoke up again, although rather gently and laced with concern, “How are you?”

“Fine,” was all he mumbled, before another content sigh escaped his mouth, “how are you?”

“Fine,” the voice chuckled, as the fingers continued to massage his scalp, “slightly drained, but after a strenuous Ritual that should hardly be surprising.”

“It really should not,” the Dark Lord chuckled, before opting to cease talking, instead deciding to enjoy the cozy silence once more as he leaned into the touch, his eyes closed.

“No, it really should not,” the voice whispered after minutes of pleasant silence, “although you gave us quite a scare. We agreed that it would not be a wise move to overexert your magic so soon after restoring your body.”

“I have never claimed to be the wisest person on the face of the earth,” Tom replied, for the first time opening his eyes. Immediately, he was awarded with the most vivid, most beautiful green eyes he had ever seen. Sure, he had seen their reflection in the mirror, but never in person. Never face to face. Never with his own eyes. To say that in reality the vivid Avada-green eyes were quite striking was an understatement. They were sparkling brighter than even the purest, most impressive green emeralds.

“No, you have not,” Harry replied, seemingly equally mesmerised by the view in front of him, “still, why did you do it?”

Sighing, Tom closed his eyes for a second to contemplate his answer, “When I regained consciousness, it was to the sight of an alarmingly pale Severus desperately clutching your lifeless form, screaming… begging that you promised to heal him. During that moment, I just knew that you were in no state to live up to your words. We must have made a mistake. The Ritual was never supposed to take so much magic out of you. It should not have drained you to the extent it did. Still, there was no way to change that.”

“True,” Harry agreed, not averting his eyes from the resurrected Dark Lord throughout the entire explanation.

“Anyway,” Tom continued, “I just knew that I had to do something. With you out, there was no one who could help Severus bar myself. Since our method only works a rather limited amount of time after the incident, waiting was not an option. Neither were any other methods. With current Healing Magic, you simply cannot regrow limbs, only reattaching. Even then, the results are often not perfectly functional. With the hand gone, the idea would have been out of the picture anyway. Leaving Severus with only one hand was simply unacceptable. He promised to help us. Therefore, we had to help him, especially since he needs both of his hands at full operability for his Potions career. Furthermore, a missing hand would have been  _ slightly  _ suspicious. I just had to try. Failure was not an option. Luckily, I survived.”

“And your magical core?” Harry asked, one eyebrow raised, sounding rather concerned.

“Feels fine,” Tom answered, shrugging his shoulders, “although it is still replenishing. I guess it is going to take a few days until I have regained my full power. The healing took a lot out of me, almost too much.”

“About that,” his opposite said, his eyes drifting into the distance, caught in thoughts, “I had a similar experience during the Resurrection Ritual. Do you remember?”

“Honestly, no,” the Dark Lord replied, scenes of the Ritual flashing past his now thankfully corporeal eyes, although none fitting the requirements.

“Towards the end of the Ritual, shortly before I passed out,” Harry whispered before his voice broke.

Without thinking, the Dark Lord reached for the slightly trembling hand of his equal, squeezing it reassuringly. Once Harry had noticeably relaxed, Tom cleared his throat, “No wonder I cannot remember.”

At that point, he had been far too occupied with being ripped free, a painful process which he never hoped to endure ever again.

Humming in unspoken understanding, Harry took a deep breath to explain what had happened throughout the end of the Resurrection Ritual, “Like you said before, the Ritual depleted my magical reserves a lot more than we anticipated. Shortly before the end, they were practically empty, while most magic of my surroundings had been absorbed already. Overall, there was not much left, at least not enough to complete the Ritual. Somehow, I knew that I was doomed to fail since there was no way that I could channel that amount of magic from a larger distance. I tried anyway, pushing my magic past its limits. At first, nothing happened. Still, I kept on pushing, praying to whoever was listening to be heard. Like you said before, failure was not an option. I just could not give up, could not give in. Just when I thought that I had failed, I felt a powerful surge of magic rushing through my veins. It was no ordinary magic. It certainly was not my magic nor the magic of my surroundings. It felt much Darker, much older, and much more powerful. Ancient in a certain way. Addictive. It was something… more. I… I… Words cannot describe whatever it was.”

[ _ Impossible _ ] the Dark Lord whispered, more to himself than anybody else. It just was not possible. It just could not be. It had never happened before. Never.

[ _ What should be impossible? _ ] Harry asked, a mixture of confusion and concern on his face.

Upon hearing Harry’s words, uttered in the language that the Dark Lord would have never expected to hear, his eyes grew wide. After all, it should be impossible since the language was reserved for a selected elite only, [ _ You are speaking the Dark Tongue. _ ]

[ _ The what? _ ] Harry asked incredulously, clearly not having realised that he in fact had been speaking another language.

[ _ The Dark  _ Tongue] Tom explained, still shaken by the discovery and its implications, [the _ language of the Dark Lords. Only someone who has completed a set of gruelling tasks and impossible challenges to become a Dark Lord is gifted with the knowledge of the Dark Tongue. Others cannot understand the darkest of all languages. It cannot be learnt, cannot be taught. There is only one explanation for why you are understanding what I am saying. You have… _ ]

[ _ …become a Dark Lord _ ] his equal whispered, his Avada green eyes glinting stronger than ever, [ _ but how? _ ]

[ _ The only way that I can possibly think of, _ ] Tom began to explain, his mind working harder than ever,  [ _ is that our modified version of the Resurrection Ritual must have been impossible to the degree that your nearly successful attempt of completing it must have been perceived as a challenge large, or significant enough by Magic herself to fulfil the gruelling requirements of becoming a Dark Lord. While it usually is a set of tasks, there are reports of grand magic wielders who have performed incredible feats of magic in desperate times of need and as a result, were granted the privilege to call themselves Dark Lord. Apparently, you did so as well.] _

For a moment, the two of them just stared at each other, before Harry asked, [ _ What does this mean in the grand scheme of things? _ ]

“Honestly,” Tom said, switching back to English, “I do not know, and now certainly is not the time to speculate. I guess it will become more apparent in the future. Anyway, how long have you been conscious?”

“A couple of hours maybe,” Harry answered, shrugging his shoulders, “Narcissa was alarmed that I had woken and came by immediately to check on us. She was rather concerned…”

“Sorry to interrupt you,” Tom spoke up, a thought suddenly crossing his mind, “how long exactly have we been out of it?”

At those words, Harry’s face contorted into a grimace, “A bit more than two days.”

“Two days?” Tom asked incredulously, lifting an eyebrow, “that long?”

“Yes,” Harry answered swiftly, “I was rather surprised myself when Narcissa revealed that bit of information. Apparently, Corvus Revived her shortly after you had passed out. She did not dare to use magic on us in fear of the potential backlash it could cause to our cores after the strenuous tasks we had just performed. Since there were no outward signs of damage, she made sure that we were still alive. Since we all had a pulse and using magic on us was out of the picture, she deduced that only time would tell, since we all needed rest to recover. Well…”

“What happened?” Tom asked.

“Apparently,” Harry began while averting Tom’s eyes for the first time, feeling ashamed of himself, “she wanted to put us in different rooms, but I started to scream… I would only stop when we were united once more…”

“Shhh, it’s alright,” Tom said, his words gentle as his fingers brushed over the pleasantly warm lightning bolt scar still present on Harry’s forehead, “we knew that something like this could happen… That coping with a situation like this would not be easy. How… how are you coping with the… situation?”

Closing his eyes, his opposite took a deep breath, “Horrible… Just horrible… When I woke up and could not feel, could not talk to you, like I always could, it just felt like a… like a huge part of me is missing… Now that you are awake, it is slightly better… The connection is there. I can feel you again, but it is only a shadow of what it once was, especially since I cannot reach out to you… I know we talked about this… I only wish we could go through with our plan now…”

“You know that we cannot,” Tom said, his voice calm and gentle, “at least not now. Neither of us currently is at full power. Furthermore, the magical residue will only raise questions. Three weeks, at the maximum four, and we shall try to rectify the lack of connection.”

“What if it does not work?” Harry asked, looking the Dark Lord directly in the eyes, concern, worry, and fear tainting the brightness of the Avada green eyes, “what if that is not enough?”

“I told you and promised you before,” Tom said, his voice firm, as he pushed himself off the mattress to embrace his equal, “if it does not work, we will continue trying. We will not stop until we succeed. There is no surrender, no failure, no stopping until we have created a connection deeper than anyone before. Until then, I will always be there for you, always.”

For a long time, neither of them spoke. For now, the world around them did not matter. The only thing that did was the company of each other, the fact that they had somehow managed to get Tom’s body back, yet neither would never abandon, never leave each other. Tom had sworn it, and he had every intention of keeping it that way as he was gently patting Harry’s back who had buried himself into Tom’s shoulder.

After a while, a thought crossed his mind, “Did you not say that Narcissa was alarmed when you regained consciousness? I wonder why no one is here yet.”

“She was,” Harry said, although his words were muffled since his head was still buried in Tom’s shoulder, “I told her that I would call for her should you return to the land of the living.”

“And yet you chose not to,” Tom chuckled, continuing to pat the back of his equal, “care to explain why?”

“Did not want to share,” Harry replied stubbornly, making Tom snort.

“Was it worth it?” the Dark Lord asked.

“Of course, it was,” Harry responded, sounding slightly offended, but thankfully no longer muffled as they were now face to face, “I can finally talk to you again… And… and just look at you.”

Raising an eyebrow, the Dark Lord teasingly replied to the gaze Harry was shooting at him, “I take it that my physical appearance is visually pleasing and that in fact, I did not inherit Severus’ nose, right?”

“You really have not seen yourself yet?” Harry asked incredulously.

“Well,” Tom chuckled, “when I woke up to the sight of a one-handed Severus shaking your lifeless body, conjuring a mirror to goggle at my own reflection was very low on my list of priorities.”

“You should now,” Harry said, a wide smile etched on his face.

“That good?” Tom purred.

Instead of replying, the smile on Harry’s face only grew wider as he nodded his head in confirmation, his vivid green eyes sparkling with life while pointing at a large mirror next to a massive wardrobe on their right.

Fuelled by Harry’s enthusiasm, Tom swung his legs out of bed. Thankfully, somebody, most likely Narcissa, had had the foresight to put him into a pair of pyjamas. Accompanied by the glorious feeling of the cold stone floor underneath his bare feet, he slowly made his way across the room, ignoring the slight wobbling of his knees. Before long, he was standing in front of the mirror. At the sight, his lips curled into a smile. Harry had been right.

Although his nose was slightly longer than it used to have been before the continuous creation of Horcruxes had deteriorated his appearance, it was thankfully far from the Potions Master’s overlarge, hooked nose, even if Tom would never say that to the face of the man himself. Furthermore, his lips had thinned out slightly to line in more with the Prince family, while his face had grown longer, thankfully not by much. His aristocratic jaw and cheekbones had only changed marginally, much to his delight. After all, the bone structure of most Pureblood families was rather similar. From the smooth, pale skin, his eyes moved upwards to the thick, black hair that was falling in even waves over his forehead. It was slightly too long for his taste, but at least there was some hair to begin with, and a haircut could easily rectify that. Lastly, his eyes rested on the sole feature that was undoubtedly not Prince and that he had thankfully retained – his eyes, burning a deep and dangerous crimson.

Unlike the rest of his deteriorating exterior, they had not been the product of the continuous creation of Horcruxes. They had been caused by an accident long before that. During his time at Borgin and Burkes, he had come across an interesting ancient little tome containing some rather peculiar rituals to improve certain bodily functions. While his sight had never been bad, the Dark Lord had always been searching for ways to improve his body, to elevate it far beyond mediocrity.

Sadly, the Ritual that promised  _ unbelievable  _ vision, including magical sight, had slightly gone wrong, leaving him blind for a couple of days. Upon regaining his vision, he came to the conclusion that while his vision had improved overall, although not to the extent the book had promised, it had come with the loss of the natural colour of his eyes. Opting to use Glamours to hide the results of the botched Ritual, it had taken him years to realise that the accident had been caused by a faulty sequence of Runes, which had been written down incorrectly. Still, over time, he had grown quite fond of the unnatural, yet unique colour of his eyes, since they set him apart from his damned father. After his return to the British Isles, he had decided to no longer hide them. Therefore, he was glad that the colour of his eyes had somehow stayed with him.

Moving back to the here and now, Tom decided that he quite liked his new appearance. Overall, it was a nice compromise between his former exterior, and the trademarks of the Prince family. Nobody would suspect that he was not a member of the Prince family, at least if you ignored the eyes which could be easily Glamoured with Parselmagic. The Prince features were simply too pronounced to question his claimed heritage. Since hardly anyone still remembered how he had looked like before his exterior had started to deteriorate, Tom doubted that most, Dumbledore excluded, would question his appearance within the Magical world of the British Isles anyway. While the Light Lord was a powerful and rather influential character, he was also just a single man. Therefore, his new looks combined with a convincing backstory should do the job.

Before he could muse about his new body any longer, the door of the room was thrown open, revealing four rather worried figures. The first to storm into the room was Narcissa, coming to a halt in front of him, her wand already drawn, while her usually immaculate Pureblood mask had morphed into an expression of concern, as she cast one Diagnosis Charm after the other. Knowing that it would be a futile endeavour to protest, the Dark Lord simply opted to endure the myriad of Charms. After the seventeenth Diagnosis Charm, Narcissa finally appeared to have gathered enough evidence to confirm that the Dark Lord in fact was not dead, “My Lord, I am pleased that you are back amongst the living. I can confirm that you are on your way to making a swift recovery. Still, I think you should not be out of bed so soon.”

“While your concern is rather touching, Narcissa,” Tom smiled, “I can assure you that I am fine apart from feeling slightly worn but my core is on the best way to being fully recharged. I have been through a lot worse. I am fine.”

Not daring to question the assurance of the Dark Lord, Narcissa instead turned her attention to Harry. Ignoring his protests, she started to check his vitals for the second time of the day.

“You could have warned me, you know,” Corvus Lestrange said, his eyes narrowed as he stepped into the room, his dark eyes fixated on the Dark Lord, “you really could have.”

“I have no idea what you are referring to, old friend,” Tom replied, his tone light as the smile on his face grew wider.

Corvus Lestrange snorted, “Funny, indeed. You know exactly what I am talking about.”

“No clue,” Tom said, shaking his head while lifting his hands in feigned incomprehension, “please enlighten me.”

Opposite him, the Lord of the Lestrange family rolled his eyes at the antics of the Dark Lord, while Lucius Malfoy was hiding his laughter behind his hand. After Corvus had stopped shaking his head, his eyes once more focussed on the Dark Lord, “About your appearance, Tom.”

“What about my appearance, Corvus?” the Dark Lord chuckled, “do you find it unappealing?”

“No,” the Lord of the Lestrange family said quickly to not enrage his opposite or the Potions Master behind him, “it is not your appearan-“

“What is it then?” the Dark Lord asked, his words teasing.

“Your age!” Corvus Lestrange exclaimed, seemingly at the end of his patience.

Before his opposite could add more, Tom began to speak, projecting an aura of fake hurt on his features, “What do you think is wrong with my age? I know that I am in my sixties. Still, have I really aged that badly to-“

“No, not your real age,” Corus Lestrange interrupted the Dark Lord, clearly exasperated, despite being familiar with the antics of the Dark Lord in a more private setting, “you look like a bloody teenager. How old is this new body of yours?”

“Oh that,” Tom said, looking at himself as if he had just realised the youthful state of his body, “if I am not mistaken, I think I should turn thirteen in early February.”

“Since you do not appear to be upset with your  _ age _ ,” Corvus began, although his words were selected carefully,” I presume that this was indeed intentional, was it not?”

The smile on Tom’s face grew wider in answer.

“So, if this was indeed intentional,” his opposite continued, “what do you plan to achieve with that look? Are you just going to pop up somewhere and pretend like you are a long-lost member of the Prince family, enrolling at Hogwarts right under Dumbledore’s crooked, overly curious and suspicious nose?”

The smile on the Dark Lord’s face turned all teeth, “You just answered the one million Galleon question, Corvus. That is exactly what I intend to do.”

“You are insane,” the Lord of the Lestrange family said, shaking his head.

“I keep telling him that,” a familiar drawl echoed through the room, “and the time with Potter certainly does not seem to have improved these tendencies.”

“I am glad that you think that, Severus,” Harry snorted before Tom could react.

“Of course, you do, Potter,” the Potions Master said, spitting out the surname like it was poison.

“I am glad that you are feeling better, Severus,” Tom chuckled, before either of them could continue their exchange, “how is your hand?”

“Well,” the Potions Master snapped. At the single raised eyebrow of the Dark Lord he quickly added, “As far as I can tell, everything is working the way it should.”

To demonstrate, he raised his hand flexing the fingers of his left hand under the critical gaze of the Dark Lord, “The muscles work just like they should, my Lord, while the nerves pick up everything they did before. Even the slight aches in two of the fingers due to badly healed broken bones caused by my…  _ dear  _ father no longer bother me. Thank you, my Lord.”

“That is the least I could do, Severus,” Tom smiled, “after everything you did for Harry and me.”

For a moment, none of those present within the room spoke a word. While Severus clearly appeared to be content with his new, slightly improved hand, Narcissa had finally stopped fussing over Harry. For once, Lucius seemed to be happy remaining in the background, pleased that he knew more than the Lord of the Lestrange family, who still was rather unsatisfied with the Dark Lord’s less than forthcoming answer, which Tom enjoyed immensely. Mentally counting the seconds until Corvus would break the silence, he did not have to wait long, “While this is all nice and well, would you please enlighten me on your plans and what you intend to achieve with that new body of yours?”

“I will certainly enlighten you on my plan, my old friend,” Tom smiled, “sadly, my explanations have to wait a bit. I am in desperate need of a shower and some food. I am afraid having regained a body comes with a few obligations that certainly cannot be ignored much longer. Therefore, I kindly ask you to leave. We will join you for lunch.”

Once everybody had left, Tom limped back towards the large bed Harry was still sitting on, the strain of standing clearly starting to show. Sitting down on the bed, deep crimson eyes met Avada green ones as the Dark Lord sighed, “Having a body back is a lot more strenuous than I remember.”

“Luckily, we have time for you to adapt,” Harry said before he leaned forwards to wrap his arms around his exhausted equal.

Half an hour later, they finally left the warmth of the bed, yearning for a much-needed shower. Not caring much for decency and privacy, both entered the  _ small  _ bathroom that was attached to the lavish guest room of Malfoy Manor they had been staying in. Since Tom had shared every moment of his life, Harry did not appear to be concerned or bothered in any way as he began to undress and quickly hopped under the steaming stream of water.

Tom on the other hand was.

While he had never been a vain, or an overly self-conscious person, the way Harry’s seemingly overlarge pyjamas were hanging off his boney frame was the only thing the Dark Lord loathed about his new body. It reminded him too much of the days when he had been forced to survive on far too little food for far too long, as well as the disgusted way the Slytherins had stared at him when he had sat down at the Slytherin house table for the first time, his worn and faded second-hand uniform far too wide for his meagre frame. Over the course of the school year, he had done everything he could to rectify the poor state his body had been.

“Tell me,” Harry spoke up, his lithe, nicely muscled and slightly tanned body emerging from the stream of hot water, “are you already thinking about eradicating your bodily lack of strength and stamina?”

The maniacal glint in the Dark Lord’s eyes appeared to be enough of an answer to make his opposite snort, “Seriously, Tom, while that is all good and well, now certainly is not the time to throw yourself headfirst into physical exercises. Let your body rest first. There will be enough time to shape your body to your expectations.”

Before he could say more, Harry had already wandlessly Vanished his clothes and pulled him under the water.

Sometime later, the two finally made their way down to the private dining room of Malfoy Manor. After a long and hot soak, Tom and Harry had taken their time getting dressed. Harry had borrowed him some of his clothes, which had been slightly shrunken down to fit his less than impressive frame. At least they did not have to be shortened since they were roughly the same height. How Tom wished to rectify the state of his body this instant. Maybe he could employ some of the Advanced-Nutrition-Potion they had developed during their stay at Privet Drive.

The Dark Lord was torn out of his thoughts when they entered the dining room as Harry next to him spoke up at the sight ahead of them, “You know that you could have begun without us.”

“Certainly not,” Lucius Malfoy’s silky voice echoed through the richly decorated room, sounding slightly offended at the idea of starting lunch without his highest-ranking guests present, “it would have been improper.”

“Seems quite  _ improper  _ to me,” Harry snorted, as he followed the Dark Lord into the room, “to starve just because the two of us were taking so long in the shower and getting dress-“

Before he could say more, a small blond figure stormed past Tom, throwing his arms around his equal, “I am so glad that you made it, Harry. I was so worried, and mother would not let inside your room to check on you. I… I…”

“It is okay, Draco,” Harry said, his voice calm as he patted the back of the blond, “I am fine. The Ritual just took a lot out of me, but I am feeling better now.”

Slowly, Draco let go of Harry, although rather reluctantly. While turning around to the dining table, he froze as his eyes landed on the Dark Lord. The expression of shock and wonder on the pale face of the heir of the Malfoy family made Tom chuckle, “It is nice to see you, too, Draco.”

In front of him, the eyes of the Malfoy heir grew comically wide. A fraction of a second later, the blond threw himself on the ground in front of the Dark Lord, “My Lord, please forgive my rudeness and ignorance to your presence. I am at your service.”

“Please, get up, Draco,” Tom said, failing to veil the slightly exasperated undertone in his words, “you did nothing wrong. It is understandable that you are relieved to see your friend. Furthermore, there is no need for formalities in such a private setting. None of my most trusted are expected to kneel at my feet since they have proven their loyalty time and time again. While I do appreciate displays of loyalty, they are reserved for larger gatherings of my followers. Also, please refrain from treating me with a  _ suspicious  _ amount of reverence in any public setting. This is especially important since I expect us to be spending plenty of time together in an environment where such behaviour will only arouse unwanted suspicion.”

“You… you really plan on going to Hogwarts with us?” Draco whispered, staring at the Dark Lord, his jaw slightly unhinged and his eyes wide open, before remembering his manners, “my Lord, please, forgive my questions.”

“Draco, please remember that I am open to suggestions, accepting of questions, and certainly not averse to critique as long as everything is reasonable and delivered in an adequate setting,” Tom said, trying to sound reassuring, “to answer your question: I am indeed planning on attending Hogwarts with you and Harry in September.”

“But how?” Draco asked, his eyes having grown even bigger.

Before Tom or Harry could answer, Corvus Lestrange’s impressive voice echoed through the dining room, “I have to agree with Draco on this. Tom, I cannot help but wonder how you intend to achieve that impossible feat. We all know how perceiving the exterior alone can be. Therefore, I wonder how you intend on circumventing the Inheritance Ritual you no doubt will be forced to conduct to confirm your claimed identity.”

“That is rather easy,” the Dark Lord chuckled, “since I do not intend to circumvent the Inheritance Ritual. Before Harry and I explain that particular part of our plan, I would prefer to get something into my stomach.”

“Of course, my Lord,” Narcissa Malfoy said quickly, a gentle smile on her face as she gestured to everyone to take a seat at the lavishly laid out table. Once everybody had been seated, food appeared on the table, filling the Dark Lord’s nose with the most mouth-watering smells he had ever come across. Thankfully, Narcissa appeared to have had the foresight of telling the House Elves to forgo preparing a fatty feast in favour of a much lighter, balanced mixture of dishes, which certainly suited his empty stomach much better. Opting for a light beef soup and some freshly baked bread, he soon began to eat.

“Draco, you know that just like everybody else,” Tom raised his voice a few minutes into lunch, not lifting his eyes from his steaming plate, “I have to eat, despite how foreign and wrong the concept of food must appear for someone like me.”

After a few seconds of silence, Harry next to him spoke up, chuckling, “Draco, just stop staring at him. If you continue like this, your eyes might pop out.”

Afterwards, lunch turned into a rather pleasant and relaxed affair. Once the Dark Lord felt pleasantly full, he and Harry shared a quick glance before they finally started to explain their plan in detail.

Once Harry had ceased talking, Corvus Lestrange cleared his throat, “Are you sure that this will work? After all, you two are heavily relying on the magic of the Goblins. Can they be trusted?”

“Do not contest the abilities and the loyalty of the Goblins,” the Dark Lord hissed, “they are not our enemies. They are our allies.”

“Tomorrow,” Harry added, although much calmer, “we will find out if the Goblins will keep their words.”

“So,” Lucius Malfoy began, his voice silky as ever, “despite everything you two have been through during the last few days, you intend on keeping your appointment with the Goblins tomorrow?”

“Of course,” Tom answered, his tone slightly less dangerous, “since no magic will be required on our behalf, there is no reason to postpone the appointment. Still, to be in the best state possible, I would prefer to retire now to get some much-needed rest.”

“Of course, my Lord,” the Lord of the Malfoy family replied swiftly, “should you require anything, please let myself, my wife, or the House Elves know.”

“Thank you, Lucius,” Tom smiled, before fixing his eyes on Corvus Lestrange, “old friend, I demand your decision regarding the Longbottoms by tomorrow once I have returned from Gringotts.”

When Tom woke up the next morning, he felt much more well rested. Apart from a quick dinner, he and Harry had spent most of the day mediating before retiring to bed early. While the extra sleep had certainly helped him physically, the long hours of meditation had done wonders for the recharging of his core. Additionally, it had also cleared his mind considerably. Overall, Tom felt much better than the day before. Therefore, he was confident that he would make a swift recovery.

Before long, the Dark Lord’s thoughts drifted to the warm body whose arms were wrapped tightly around his torso, although not too tight. Opening his eyes, a smile appeared on his youthful face upon seeing Harry’s peacefully slumbering face resting on his chest. A content sigh escaped his lips as his fingers began to gently comb through the wild and unruly raven locks of his equal.

Although it was a nice and cozy, rather intimate moment, Tom could not help but remark that somehow something was missing. As his eyes landed on the sleeping form of his equal, it did not take long to figure out what exactly was missing. This must be exactly how Harry had felt when he had been conscious when Tom had still been out of it. After years of constant communication, the silence felt wrong and hollow, unsettling even.

Suddenly, an idea crossed his mind. Closing his eyes, Tom let himself sink deep into his mindscape. Upon waking up after his resurrection, one of the first things he had realised, had been the terrible void inside his mind which had not been there before. At that point, he had not been in the state of mind to explore and identify the missing component. Thankfully, he was in a much better state now, and there was no haemorrhaging Potions Master requiring his help. Delving deeper and deeper, he soon found the raw fringes where once upon a time something had been attached that was no longer there.

Luckily, there were still remnants left of what had once been connected to his mind. Gathering all his concentration and focus, Tom tried his best to follow one of the barely existing tethers that had been left behind. The path was narrow and rather slippery. Luckily, Tom had always been a natural at the mental arts. Where others would have failed, the Dark Lord kept stubbornly clawing forwards. Following the tether, he was soon led out of his body. Before long, the tether started to branch out into a myriad of small tendrils which all appeared to be connected with a large, pulsating sphere of the most enticing magical entity he had ever come across.

It was Harry’s magic tightly wrapped around his soul.

The connection between the two of them, although weakened, had not been broken by the Resurrection Ritual. It was still there. The lips of the Dark Lord curled into a smile as he gently brushed his magic against the intoxicating core of Harry’s very existence.

The revelation of their still existing connection certainly made their plan a lot easier than he had originally anticipated. Lost in thoughts, he unconsciously continued to brush his magic against the core of his equal.

The Dark Lord was brought out of his thoughts as well as out of his mindscape as the body pressed against his chest began to stir, his words drowsy, “T… Tom… What… what did you do?”

Staring into the sleep-drugged eyes, Tom’s lips curled into a gentle smile, “Good morning, Harry.”

“What did you do,” Harry repeated his question, his eyes filled with confusion, “for a moment, it felt like you were back in my head.”

“I was,” Tom chuckled, “I was.”

“But… but,” Harry began, “that should be impossible.”

“It should be, yet it is not,” the Dark Lord said, his words underlined with eagerness at all the doors the discovery could and would open, as his fingers lightly brushed over the lightning bolt shaped scar on his equal’s forehead.

Since they had an important appointment with the Goblins scheduled in less than an hour, they opted to not spend more time contemplating the implications of the discovery. Instead, they got dressed quickly. Once again, Harry graciously offered some of his clothes.

A few minutes later, the duo sat down at the richly laid breakfast table.

“Anything of interest in the Prophet, Lucius?” Tom asked once they had been welcomed.

“Not much,” the silky voice of the Lord of the Malfoy family echoed through the room, “a lot of speculation on the upcoming trial of Sirius Black, the usual quarrels about the thickness of cauldrons, and a call from the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office to ban a large number of supposedly Dark objects.”

“Arthur Weasley again?” Corvus Lestrange asked, looking up from his paper.

“Who else but the bloodtraitor Arthur Weasley,” Lucius Malfoy hissed, his silky voice turning steely, “it is an atrocity that scum like him are allowed to continue to ban and destroy our ancient traditions even more than they already have been.”

“With our Lord back, the deterioration of our society will hopefully no longer continue, while all damage caused by the Light shall be rectified,” Corvus Lestrange’s voice boomed through the room, as steady and sure as it had always been.

“We will do everything in our power to rectify Dumbledore’s schemes,” Harry said, his words underlined with determination of the purest and most honest kind.

“We will,” the Dark Lord spoke up, his lips curling into a smile at the words of his equal, “and today, we will start. Lucius, did the Portkey arrive?”

According to the Lord of the Malfoy family, no Portkey had arrived so far. Trusting in the unquestionable reliability of the Goblins, Tom was certain that an owl would arrive any given minute.

Still, before an owl could arrive, Severus strode into the dining room, his robes billowing behind him, “Hopefully, I will not have to endure any more mad rituals today, will I?”

“Today should be quite tame in contrast to the Resurrection Ritual,” Tom chuckled at the sour, rather displeased expression on the Potions Master’s face.

“I will take your word,” the dour man snapped, before sitting down and pouring himself a large cup of coffee. Chuckling to himself, Tom noted that the sour mood of the Potions Master brightened considerably the emptier the large cup ahead of him got. His future guardian really was not a morning person without his coffee.

Seconds after the first cup of coffee had been emptied, a large eagle owl flew through the open window, landing in front of the Dark Lord. A crimson envelope of the finest quality was tied to its leg, bearing the intricate sigil of the Goblin bank. Once the letter had been removed from the outstretched leg of the owl, he quickly fed a few strips of bacon to the massive bird before turning his attention to the letter. Upon opening the letter, the lips of the Dark Lord curled into a smile. The portkey had arrived.

Once Severus had put down his cutlery, Tom cleared his throat, "Shall we depart? The sooner this is over, the better.”

Sighing, the Potions Master agreed, while Harry was eagerly nodding his head. Once all three of them were touching the unshrunk golden goblet, Tom activated the Portkey with the password in Gobbledegook.

Fractions of a second later, his feet were ripped off the ground. Just like the first time he had had the displeasure of travelling with this form of transportation, it felt as though a hook just behind his navel had been suddenly jerked irresistibly forwards, a feeling he had never quite gotten used to despite decades of frequent usage. Speeding forwards in a whirlwind of wind and colours, his fingers were firmly stuck to the golden goblet. Without warning, the connection was severed. Seeing the marble floor approaching at fast speed, his magic, although still far from being fully recharged, reacted instinctively. Floating on the magical currents, the Dark Lord graciously sank to the ground.

“How did you do that?” Harry grumbled from the floor, accepting Tom’s hand who pulled him to his feet with a lot more effort than his weak, protesting body would have liked.

“I would like to know that myself,” Severus said, shooting him a calculated glance, despite having managed to land on his feet, while straightening his windswept robes and his curtain of dark hair.

Before Tom could answer, a movement in the corner of his vision caught his attention.

“ _ My old friend, I see it worked. What a pleasure of finally seeing you in flesh and blood again _ ,” Ragnok’s voice boomed through the lavish palace of marble that was his office, as the Goblin quickly made his way around his desk, before coming to a halt in front of the Dark Lord, catching him in a genuine and enthusiastic embrace, “I am beyond relieved that the Resurrection Ritual appeared to have worked.”

“ _ Luckily, it did, Ragnok _ ,” Tom replied in Gobbledegook, his lips curling into a smile as he patted the back of his much shorter friend and ally.

“ _ Was it a close call? _ ” the Goblin asked.

At that, Tom nodded his head while keeping his eyes firmly locked on the Goblin, “ _ Still, we made it.” _

“ _ And that is all that matters _ ,” Ragnok chuckled, before letting go of the Dark Lord. The Goblin was about to turn, to no doubt return to his chair behind his desk, when his eyes landed on the Potions Master, switching back to English, “While I am delighted to see you, Lord Prince, I cannot help but wonder about the cause for your rather peculiar expression. Would you mind enlightening me?”

“May your veins of gold never run dry, Ragnok,” Severus familiar drawl echoed through the lavish office, as he respectfully lowered his head as an excuse for openly staring at the Goblin in surprise seconds earlier, “I have just never heard nor dreamed of your race forgoing neutrality in favour of decla-“

“We have aligned ourselves with human magic wielders in the past,” Ragnok chuckled with a smile that was all teeth, “although many centuries have passed since we last openly sided with either faction. Still, there are many ways to support a war under the guise of neutrality. We, the Goblins, have never stopped fighting for our rights. Although I think a time might come,” Ragnok said as his eyes landed on Harry, narrowing slightly at the sight of the Dark Lord’s equal, “where we will once again side openly and return to the battlefields, now that there are two Dark Lords in Britain.”

“Two?” Severus repeated, his eyes growing even wider than before, “two Dark Lords?”

“Yes,” the Goblin laughed, his wide grin of sharp teeth the most feral and dark Tom had ever seen, “I must congratulate you, Lord Potter, for completing Lady Magic’s most gruelling task. It was the Resurrection Ritual, was it not?”

Once Harry had voiced his confirmation, Ragnok’s smile grew even wider as he exchanged glances with the two Dark Lords, “I had a feeling that something extraordinary would happen. After all, no one has ever tried to achieve the full recreation of a fully functioning human body in one night. It should be impossible, yet you managed to do it, becoming true equals in the process, although we all know that a tiny little detail is still amiss but will soon be rectified. I am sure that you will achieve great things in the future once the path is fully set. Shall we begin?”

Once a few more pleasantries had been exchanged and everyone had taken a seat around the large marble desk, the eager Goblin went straight to business, pulling out a blank sheet of paper and a needle, “I think it is time to confirm if one of the more intricate aspects of the Resurrection Ritual turned out the way you desired. Tom, a few drops of your blood should suffice.”

Without further ado, the elder Dark lord accepted the needle. A few seconds later, the first crimson drop landed on the top of the parchment. Once a sufficient amount had been added, Tom cleansed the needle with a wave of wandless magic before sealing the wound. Meanwhile, Ragnok initiated the identification process with a wave of his hand. During the entire process, Tom’s eyes kept firmly glued on the enchanted parchment.

Unlike the times he and Harry had respectively confirmed their identities at the Goblin bank, the magic of the parchment appeared to be confused by the blood of the Dark Lord. On the left side of the parchment, lines started to appear, listing his true heritage, but the writing was shaky, blurry at some spots, and fragmentary at times. An inch or two to the right, other lines were beginning to spread. Unlike the rather coherent lines of words about Tom’s true background, the writing on the right was nothing but disjointed pieces of information about the Prince family. Still, this was not a bad thing.

“This is quite a good thing,” Ragnok chuckled, while his dark eyes were inspecting the parchment as more and more lines started to appear, “congratulations, Tom. You indeed have Prince blood inside you. Now, let me weave you into the family tree to properly anchor you within the Prince family. Am I correct that your choice of placement has not changed, has it?”

“My decision remains the same,” Tom answered curtly, while lavishly waving at the parchment, signalling the Goblin to go ahead.

“Splendid,” Ragnok chuckled. Flicking his wrist, a short wand slipped into his right hand. Unlike Severus, neither Tom nor Harry batted an eye at the sight of the wand. While on the British Isles, all magical creatures were officially denied the possession and usage of a wand, the two of them were more than aware that the Goblins did not obey the laws of the Ministry of Magic. Although their wands remained to be hidden from the public eye. This was especially true for Ragnok’s wand.

“Is that a human bone?” Severus asked, his eyes glued on the white wand, which was covered with a myriad of Runes, which had been used long before the Goblins had been reduced to the administrators of the gold of the magical community.

“Indeed,” Ragnok chuckled, looking fondly at the wand in his hand, “my forefather Gornak managed to slay the great Tyrynell, son of the Elven Lord Thuriell and the non-magical priestess Yggrid, at the siege of what is now known as Stonehenge. To honour the fight with Tyrynell, Gornak carved his new wand out of his thigh bone, since his old wand had been destroyed by an axe during the siege. Since then, the wand has been handed down from generation to generation, with each of us offering our blood to the wand. On one hand, this allows us to use the wand, one the other, the wand’s strength increases with each passing generation. I hope that this revelation is treated with the utter most discretion, since I would be very unamused to part ways with the present of my ancestors. Is that understood?”

“Of course,” the Potions Master replied, not flinching under the intense gaze of the Goblin, “I disagree with the Ministry’s policies of creature discrimination. All magical creatures should be granted the same rights.”

“I am glad to hear that, Lord Prince,” Ragnok replied, his words less harsh than before, “brace yourself. This might tingle a bit.”

Raising his arms, the Goblin began to chant in a form of ancient Gobbledegook long forgotten, weaving the blood and magic of the Dark Lord into the family tree of the ancient and noble Prince line, directing strands of magic with the help of his wand. At first, Tom did not feel anything. Then, he felt a slight tug at his magic. Severus on his right froze in his seat. Because of their connection, not even Harry remained unaffected by the magic of the Goblin. Much to Ragnok’s credit, the tug at their magic never grew past a slightly unpleasant stinging despite the magic within the room growing in intensity. Without warning, a strong wave of ancient magic washed over them as Ragnok sealed their blood and magic together, the connection becoming inseparable.

For a long time, the only sound that echoed through the room was their slightly quickened breathing.

“Well, let us see if this worked,” Ragnok finally spoke up, wiping the sweat from his forehead, before reaching for another piece of enchanted parchment.

Seconds later, drop after drop of the Dark Lord’s blood began to stain the top of the parchment. Once a sufficient amount of the crimson liquid had been squeezed on the sheet, Ragnok waved his hand to initiate the identification. At first, nothing happened. Then, a slight tremble shook through the parchment before lines began to appear at last. Once words had ceased to appear, Tom accepted the sheet from Ragnok who was grinning toothily.

**_Thomas Nero Prince_ ** **, born February 29** **th** **, 1980 in** **_Southend-on-Sea, Essex, England_ **

**Parents:**

**_Nero Aurelius Prince_ ** **, born October 6** **th** **, 1954 in** **_Southend-on-Sea, Essex, England_ **

**_Madeleine Joan Lefebvre,_ ** **born March 19** **th** **, 1955 in** **_Boulogne-Sur-Mer, Pas-de-Calais, France_ **

**Godparents:**

**Not instated**

**Magical guardian:**

**Not instated**

**Heir to the Houses of:**

**Prince (second in line), Lefebvre**

**Soulmate:**

**_Harry James Potter_ ** **, born July 31st, 1980 in** **_Godric’s Hollow, West Country, England_ **

**Hereditary magical abilities:**

**Natural Occlumens and Legilimens**

**Core Magic:**

**Dark**

Looking up from the parchment, the corners of the Dark Lord’s lips curled into a smile, “I think this is a good beginning.”

“I agree,” Harry chuckled next to him, before pointing at the section where he was listed as the soulmate of the resurfaced member of the Prince family, “although there are a few parts of Tom’s supposed past that have to be refined slightly. Otherwise, they might arouse the suspicion of a certain Headmaster.”

“We, the Goblin Nation, will take care of these slight inconveniences,” Ragnok said without hesitation, “as we are speaking, there are forces at work, ensuring that everything will go according to our plan. The discovery of  _ Thomas Nero Prince  _ should be free of complications.”

“Thank you, Ragnok,” Tom met the Goblin’s eyes, the genuine words of the Dark Lord echoing through the room.

“There is no need to thank us, old friend,” Ragnok smiled, “not after everything we have been through together. Enough sentimentality. There is something that needs to be returned to its rightful owner before we advance to the next step of our meeting.”

A long slim box, which was obviously Goblin made, appeared on the table in front of the Dark Lord. After shooting his old friend a quick glance, Tom reached for the box. Even before his fingers come into contact with the expertly crafted box, he could feel the familiar magic pulsating on the inside. Not sparing another second, he quickly removed the top. For a moment, time stood still as Tom stared at the familiar piece of Yew ahead of him. Realising that he had been holding his breath, he quickly forced some oxygen into his protesting lung before grabbing his first wand. Fractions of a second later, his fingers began to tingle, before a powerful wave of magic rushed through his body.

“Our safety measures worked,” the Dark Lord whispered, his eyes still transfixed on his wand, which housed the twin core of the Blackthorn wand of his equal.

“It did,” Ragnok said proudly, “I called it back myself before the Aurors could storm the cottage of the Potters in Godric’s Hollow. The Rune sequence we added worked splendidly.”

“Please, tell me,” Severus spoke up, his words sounding rather reluctant, “that you do not intend to use this in public. People will surely identi-”

“No, he is not,” Ragnok answered before the Dark Lord could raise his voice, “that is why I have invited a special friend and ally.”

As if on commando, the door of the lavish office swung open only a moment later, “Good day, Ragnok. I have the feeling that it will be a wonderful day for business.”

“I must agree, Lady Aurora,” the Goblin chuckled, signalling the wandmaker to enter the office before offering her a seat which had just materialised in front of his desk, “thank you for accepting my invitation.”

“As if I would ever pass the opportunity of conducting business with your kind,” the tall woman replied, a genuine smile on her face while her pale-blue eyes were sparkling with life, “although I have the feeling that none of your kind require my help this time. My Lord, how can I be of service?”

“My Lady, as always, it is a pleasure conducting business with you,” Tom’s smooth words echoed through the office as he accepted her pale hand, letting his lips brush over her knuckles. Through the link connecting him to his equal he felt a touch of jealousy. Ignoring the possessiveness of Harry for now, he let go of the pale hand.

“How can I be of service, my Lord?” the descendant of the Ice Elves asked, a touch of colour gracing her noble cheeks, “what kind of wand do you require?”

“I thought you already had several of her wands,” Severus' familiar drawl broke the brisk silence faster than the Dark Lord had anticipated, “why do you require another one?”

“Oh, Lord Prince,” Lady Aurora laughed, an enticing sound which made the hair on all those present in the office stand on end, “all those wands I previously crafted for the Dark Lord were crafted with ingredients and rituals long since banned despite the undeniable advantages of these methods. It would not be wise to be seen in public using any of my previous creations. I have the feeling that our Lord requires something a bit more… legal.”

“As always, you are quite correct,” the Dark Lord confirmed the presumption of the wandmaker, “I need a wand, preferably something unsuspicious.”

This was easier said than done.

Because of his Dark affinity, ‘lighter’ woods barely channelled his magic correctly, if they channelled his magic at all. Both Lady Aurora and Tom knew that most ‘lighter’ woods like holly, maple, willow, or cherry would either channel only a fraction of his magic, or rupture under the strain of being forced to channel magic that was simply incompatible. The same was true for most cores. The most common cores like Dragon heartstring, Kelpie hair, and Unicorn tail hair would not withstand the amount of magic the Dark Lord had at his disposal. Since restraining himself had never been his strength, Tom knew that they had to find another solution.

Thankfully, Lady Aurora was a master of her craft.

To underline his special connection with his equal, his new wand contained a feather from the same Dark Phoenix which had donated one of the components of the core of Harry’s Alder wand. Tom could not help himself but snort at the irony that he and Harry possessed two sets of twin core wands. After all, twin cores were incredibly rare. The Dark Phoenix feather would be complemented by a priceless vial of Basilisk venom from Salazar Slytherin’s familiar, and Manticore heartstring, finished off by an elegant piece of Jamaican Bloodwood.

While all of the components of the wand would surely arouse suspicion, Lady Aurora had miraculously managed to conceal the wand with the help of a few well-placed Runes and a light casing of apple wood. From the outside, the Bloodwood wand looked just like any ordinary ‘Light’ wand. Thanks to the thinness of the wooden sheathing, the flow of his magic would not be affected much. Because of the Runes etched into the Bloodwood underneath, the core of the wand would be disguised as Unicorn hair, if someone tried to unveil the core with magical means. According to Lady Aurora, even wandmakers like Ollivander, or Gregorovitch would not be able to see past the Unicorn hair.

Because of the complexity of the construction, it took several hours to complete the wand. It was well past dinner when the pale wandmaker finally looked up from her work. Without thinking, Tom accepted the smooth piece of Bloodwood disguised as Apple wood. Immediately, his fingers started to tingle upon touching his new wand while crimson sparks erupted from its tip. While Tom could feel the slight resistance of the Apple wood, it barely mattered in the grand scheme of things.

“Thank you for your phenomenal work, my Lady,” Tom smiled, looking up from his new wand to the tall frame of the wandmaker who had already risen from her seat, “how can I possibly repay you? I know that money alone is not enough.”

Turning down the offered bag of Galleons in the outstretched hand of the Dark Lord, a mysterious gleam appeared in the pale-blue eyes of Lady Aurora, “I have no need for your money. There is something else I demand which is of far greater value. A descendant of the human branch of my line will start attending Hogwarts this year. She inherited the gift of sight from our ancestors. I want you to protect her at all cost.”

“Of course, my Lady,” Tom whispered, his mind trying to grasp the significance of the revelation, “who is she?”

“You will see,” Lady Aurora chuckled, before her billowing robes disappeared on the white marble floor of the Goblin bank without another word.


	3. Allegiances

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thank you to my two wonderful betas AliceNight and Silver_Flight!!!

The moment Tom, Harry, and Severus reappeared in the lavish entrance hall of Malfoy Manor, they were bombarded with a seemingly never-ending flood of questions.

“How did it go?” Draco asked, while his mother was trying to determine if all three of them had not harmed their still frail health and magic with the lengthy trip to Gringotts, “You have been gone for far too long. You should not have disrupted your recovery so soon. I was beyond worried. How do you feel, Harry? My Lord?”

“Did the Goblins keep up their bargain?” Corvus Lestrange’s voice boomed through the entrance hall, an octave lower than the voices of both Malfoys, “is it safe for you to ingest the Inheritance Potion?”

Ignoring the questions for now, Tom rolled his eyes as he and Severus pulled Harry off the floor, who quietly muttered to himself how much he hated Portkeys.

“Trust me, you will get better the more often you use them,” the Dark Lord said quietly, as his equal went on to dust his clothes, before raising his voice to drown the onslaught of questions, “Enough! Harry and I are both as healthy as one can be, and we were in fact successful. The Goblins kept their word. I am a Prince.”

For a moment, no one spoke a word as the information which had just been revealed was being processed by those present. Sadly, the silence did not last for too long as a new wave of questions crept up on the horizon. Sighing, the Dark Lord braced himself for a lengthier explanation of the events at the Goblin bank.

Once all questions had been answered, Tom leaned back in his lavish wingback chair in the sitting room of Malfoy Manor, his crimson eyes boring into the nervous eyes of his oldest friend, “Corvus, I demand your decision now. Do you, or do you not want to employ the help of the Longbottoms?”

For a moment, it appeared like the Lord of the Lestrange family was deflating in his seat. On one hand, Tom could understand him since his decision could severely harm the long and proud history of the Lestrange family, possibly even seal the end of the line entirely. On the other hand, a collaboration with the Longbottoms could free Rodolphus and Rabastan as well as open a lot of doors that had been closed for the Lestrange family ever since the disappearance of the Dark Lord. Survival and opportunity were just a decision away.

“As much as I hate to admit this,” Corvus began after a tense minute of silence and contemplation, “I think I have to try, for the sake of my sons, for the sake of myself, and for the sake of my line…”

“Thank you for your decision, old friend,” Tom said, patting the back of the Lord of the Lestrange family reassuringly before focussing his attention on the Lord of the Malfoy family who had remained oddly quiet throughout the entire exchange, “Lucius, you know what to do.”

“I do, my Lord,” the blond confirmed, his voice silky and smooth, “I will set up the meeting for Friday. Are you sure that you do not want to stay here?”

“I am most certain,” Tom replied, “as much as I would like to accept your invitation, I have a cover to keep. Living anywhere else but Spinner’s End would certainly only arouse suspicion.”

Thanks to the help of Severus, Tom and Harry materialised in a familiar living room, lined from floor to ceiling with shelves which were filled to the brim with books upon books, stretching from the Dark Arts to Muggle fiction.

“I am more than aware how small this house is,” the Potions Master said after clearing his throat, looking slightly uncomfortable at the prospect of hosting the Dark Lord in his father’s house, “if you two want to, we can magically expand a few rooms, and maybe even add a personal room fo-“

“That will be unnecessary, Severus,” Tom chuckled, while his crimson orbs catalogued every detail of the room, “the house is perfectly fine as it is. If there is a problem, Harry and I will take care of it ourselves.”

“We could always relocate to Prince Manor,” Severus suggested, despite sounding far from pleased, “once my new status has become public.”

“No,” Tom said, shaking his head, “we talked about this before. We all know that you would never willingly choose to live in the Manor of those who struck your mother from the family tapestry, disinheriting her. Also, Dumbledore would never expect me to live in a Muggle neighbourhood. In his deranged mind, it would only seem natural for me to bully you into moving to the ancient Prince Manor. Because of my dismal upbringing, he cannot see me living anywhere but surrounded by vast luxury and grand splendour, preferably sitting on a gilded throne with quivering followers at my feet as I torture them into madness. Anyway, I like it here. There is no need to change anything, especially not on my behalf. This is your house, not mine.”

“Soon, it will be yours, too,” the Potions Master drawled, “once  _ Thomas Nero Prince  _ has been officially discovered.”

“True,” Tom chuckled, his words playful, “but that will not happen for a week or two.”

“Enough talk,” his equal spoke up, “I have had to share you long enough for today. Let me show you the house.”

Life at Spinner’s End was surprisingly pleasant as the three inhabitants slowly got used to each other over the next few days.

The first and only real shock had come when the Potions Master had opened the door to Harry’s and now Tom’s room the first morning to tell them that breakfast was ready, only to find the two of them lounging in the same bed, as the Dark Lord’s fingers were gently brushing through the thick, untameable mop of black hair of his equal. Once the dour man had managed to rip his eyes from the scene ahead of him, he quickly spun on his heels and fled.

“I thought you wanted to Conjure a second bed?” Severus cleared his throat much later, lowering the latest copy of the Daily Prophet he had been hiding behind, an empty, heavily coffee-stained mug that spoke of many emptied fillings in front of him, while the rest of the food on the battered table appeared to be untouched. 

“We will,” Harry chuckled, while letting himself fall on the nearest chair, not caring the slightest bit about proper etiquette , “but last night after the grand tour of our house, neither Tom nor I had enough magic left for such a feat.”

“You could have asked me,” the Potions Master grumbled, scepticism lacing his words.

“We  _ could _ have, Severus,” the Dark Lord said, his words neutral and his face void of emotions despite his inner amusement. He would never ask the man for his benign help for such a mundane task. Besides, he had no intention to ever willingly sleep not within the proximity of his equal. Decades of solitude and a later lack of a bodily vessel had certainly helped to change certain perspectives. Therefore, his next words were nothing but teasing, “But we did not want to be a bother. Especially after enduring our presence for most of the day.”

In answer, a sarcastic snort escaped the Potions Master, “I have to get used to this, will I not?”

“Quite possibly,” Harry chuckled, reaching out for the chilled pitcher of orange juice, “it would help though if you knock first before bursting into our room.”

“I will try to remember,” the dour man sighed before finally meeting the eyes of the Dark Lord, “has my  _ snappish, rather questioning,  _ and _ controlling  _ behaviour lived up to your expectations,  _ Thomas _ ?”

The corners of Tom’s lips twitched in amusement as he thought back on the conversation he had with the Potions Master shortly after the man’s decision to offer his blood for the Resurrection of his Lord.

_ Avada green eyes had changed to a deep and dangerous crimson as the Dark Lord had come to the front, “Severus, since you have agreed to become my future… guardian, I want to make sure that we see eye to eye regarding our future… parental relationship.” _

_ “Yes, my Lord,” the Potions Master answered quickly, “I am all ears.” _

_ “Once my future self has emerged,” the Dark Lord began, his eyes glittering dangerously, “I want you to treat your long lost cousin twice removed just like you would treat any other child. Snap at me, question and correct me, and discipline me. Do not hold back. Not at Hogwarts, not at home, nor in any other public setting except Death Eater meetings. I want you to be your usual dour, snappish, children-despising self. Is that understood?” _

_ “Yes, my Lord,” the Potions Master said, although quite hesitantly, “still, are you sure that you want to be treated like a child all the time?” _

_ “Of course, Severus,” the Dark Lord chuckled, “the more convincing your act, the better. The old fool is under the impression that I, as a megalomaniac prima donna, refuse to be treated with anything but the uttermost respect and fear of those cowering at my feet. Therefore, the exact opposite, if maintained at all times, should be enough to quiet the suspicion he will undoubtedly spread after our first encounter. Therefore, I want you to treat me just like any other Slytherin. Hence, I want you to use my real name. No more titles. Is that understood?” _

_ “Yes, it is, my Lord… Tom- Thomas,” the Potions Master coughed out, as if he had almost swallowed his tongue, “are you sure that you do not want to change living accommodations?” _

_ “Ah, Severus,” the Dark Lord laughed, “this would just be another thing the old man expects me to do. After my abysmal childhood, bullying you to move into the grand manor of your abhorrent ancestors would just perfectly fit into the picture he has of me. Willingly living in a small house in the middle of a poor muggle neighbourhood on the other hand would be something the evil Dark Lord would never endure. While he is more than aware of my acting skills, living in ‘hovel’ surrounded by filthy Muggles under the care of a snappish guarding for a lengthier stretch of time would certainly stretch my non-existent patience. Luckily, the last decade taught me patience, plenty of patience.” _

Focussing back on the here and now, the smile of the Dark Lord turned all teeth, “So far, I have been very impressed by your behaviour, Severus. Please, keep up your good work and it will stay that way.”

After the first shock, life at Spinner’s End progressed at a pleasant pace. Despite Tom being Tom.

Since he had always been driven by the pursuit of perfection, the current state of his body was simply unacceptable. Instead, it was screaming for rectification. While his usual exercise routine was out of the question because of the weak state of his muscles and the brittleness of his bones, some light yoga and regular doses of the Advanced-Nutrition Potion Tom and Harry had brewed after their first breakfast at Spinner’s End would do for now until his body had become stronger. Hopefully, it would not take too long for his meagre body to reach an acceptable state once more, at least as long as the changes were not too noticeable.

Still, the physical shortcomings of his body were far from being the only things the Dark Lord was trying to rectify as quickly as possible. While his magical reservoirs were still as vast and endless as they had been the day he had lost his former body – thankfully, one’s soul and magical core were inseparable and not as closely connected to the physical body as most believed - his new body was in no way fit yet to channel the amount of magic the Dark Lord had at his disposal. Trying anything above NEWT level would inevitably result in severe, long-lasting damage. To slowly adapt his body to his magic, a lot of meditation and magical stretching was in order before he could hope to one day move on from the simplest Charms and Transfigurations to greatness. Hopefully, this day would be in the not too distant future. Maybe, he could start with light duelling in a few weeks. Maybe.

On Friday morning, Tom was already wide awake when the magical alarm echoed through the small room at Spinner’s End which had once been Severus’ office.

“Are you ready to re-enter the world of politics?” a soft mumble to his right brought him out of his thoughts as the alarm was silenced.

Tom sighed. On one hand, he was relieved to finally have the opportunity to continue his grand schemes after a long decade of absence due to the forced exile in the Muggle world under the splendid care of the Dursleys. On the other hand, there were voices in his head urging him to simply take Harry and disappear from the face of the earth. Surely, the tasks of the Dark Lord were of the uttermost importance. Still, he could not deny that a reclusive and peaceful life far away from the schemes of the Light Lord together with his equal would be equally fulfilling. It was tempting. Tempting for sure. Then again, he had always been a man of ambition, a man with greater goals than anyone could ever imagine and unlike most dreamers, he had every intention of fulfilling them.

“With you by my side, I am ready,” the Dark Lord purred, “let the games begin.”

At precisely 10 o’clock, the Floo of Malfoy Manor flared up.

Obscured in the shadows of the small conference room of the lavish manor, one surprised eyebrow of the Dark Lord shot up as he sensed the magical signatures of the magic wielders stepping out of the hearth. Next to him, a chuckle escaped the lips of his equal, “The upcoming meeting certainly has the potential for the unexpected.”

Tom could not agree more.

A minute later, the door to the small conference room was opened and the shrill voice of one of the many House Elves of the Malfoys spoke up, “Master Malfoy, your guests have arrived.”

Heavy steps accompanied by the sound of a walking stick connecting to the stone floor echoed through the room as the Lord of the Malfoy family strode towards his guests, “Lady and Heir Longbottom, welcome to Malfoy Manor. It is a pleasu-“

“What sort of trap is this?” Augusta Longbottom bellowed, cutting short Lucius Malfoy’s little welcoming speech, while drawing her wand with surprising speed for a Witch her age, pointing it at the tall figure of her adversary who so far had remained quiet, “WHAT IS  **HE** DOING HERE?”

Thankfully, Corvus Lestrange managed to evade the three Severing Charms aimed at his tall form, although one of them just barely. Before Augusta Longbottom could fire off any more attacks, Tom stepped out of the shadows, his bare hands on clear display, “My, my, Augusta. After all those years you still have not lost none of your viciousness and temper.”

In front of him, Augusta Longbottom spun on her heels. Fractions of a second later, her wand was directly aimed at his face. Unlike the encounter with her adversary before, no spells were flying in his direction. Instead, Tom could clearly see the reflection of his own crimson eyes in her frozen pupils as the witch stared at her opposite, her mind ferociously trying to process everything. Suddenly, a spark of realisation dawned in her eyes as she lowered her wand while her whispered words cut through the silence of the room like fire through ice, “Tom, is that you?”

“Long time no see, Augusta,” the Dark Lord said as his lips morphed into a wide smirk.

For a long moment, no word was spoken as Augusta Longbottom stared at the Dark Lord.

“So, you have returned,” she finally breathed, her words a statement, not a question.

Before anyone could answer, Neville stepped out of the shadow of his grandmother, “Gran, who is this?”

Instead of answering, Augusta Longbottom’s eyes kept firmly glued on her opposite, unsure if she was allowed to reveal the identity of the Dark Lord. Deciding to release her from her inner dilemma, the smirk on Tom’s face grew wider, “Go ahead, tell him.”

“Neville, I believe that this,” Augusta Longbottom began, her voice trembling slightly, “is the wizard formerly known as Tom Marvolo Riddle… better known as… Lord Voldemort.”

Instead of cowering in fear, Neville stepped forwards with surprisingly determined and quick strides, positioning himself between his grandmother and the Dark Lord, pulling out his new, perfectly polished wand, aiming it at the later, a threatening and stubborn glint in his eyes while the rest of his emotions were concealed behind an impressive mask of indifference.

“Neville, please lower your wand,” Harry said as he stepped into the light, positioning himself next to the Dark Lord.

“But Harry,” Neville protested, his mask crumbling as his facial features morphed into an expression of shock, while his fingers clutched tightly around the trembling wand, “he will kill us!”

The hand of Augusta Longbottom grabbed the arm of her grandson, gently lowering Neville’s wand, “If he wanted to kill us, we would already be dead.”

The smirk on Tom’s face was all that was needed to confirm her words.

“I think,” Augusta Longbottom continued after a short moment of contemplation, “if he truly wanted us dead, we would not be standing here. There is something different you want, Tom, do you not?”

“As sharp as ever, Augusta,” Tom chuckled before his eyes turned calculating, “there is indeed something I want.”

“Before we…  _ negotiate _ ,” the last word rolling strangely from Augusta Longbottom’s tongue, “you have a lot of explaining to do, especially given  _ his  _ presence.”

All eyes in the room wandered to Corvus Lestrange, who so far had remained quiet.

“That I will,” the Dark Lord said, his voice smooth and down to business.

A few minutes later, they were finally seated around the large, although in the books of the Malfoys it was only a moderately measured conference table. At first, Augusta had adamantly refused to sit at the same table as her adversary. A few well-chosen words from Severus about a proud Pureblood woman behaving like a stubborn child had finally made her reconsider her previous behaviour.

“Gran,” Neville spoke up, once everyone present had sworn a Vow of Secrecy to prevent anyone from spreading sensitive information, “how do we know that they will speak the truth? Would it not be better to demand them to pledge an oath or swear an Unbreakable Vow to tell the truth?”

“That will be unnecessary, Neville,” Augusta chuckled, despite her Pureblood mask remaining as impassive as ever, “because the Dark Lord never lies.”

“Well, that is true. My words might be cruel and vicious at times, but they are always honest. I never lie. I give you my word for that,” the Dark Lord said, leaning forward in his chair, his eyes moving between the two Longbottoms on the opposite side of the table, “before I start with my explanation, I must ask if you are aware of the reason why Frank and Alice Longbottom were targeted by the Dark. Are you?”

“They were on opposite sid-” Neville began, only to be silenced by his grandmother, “While that is true, it is not that easy. They were targeted because of a Prophecy.”

“That is correct,” the Dark Lord said quietly, “was the exact wording or its content ever disclosed to you?”

“No,” Augusta spat bitterly, “no matter how often I urged Dumbledore to reveal the exact reason behind your apparent obsession with my son’s family, he repeatedly refused to disclose any information, stating that it could pose an unnecessary risk if more people than absolutely necessary were aware. Instead, he repeatedly insisted that their protection was sufficient despite them not staying behind the ancient wards of Longbottom Manor.”

“As I expected,” Tom sighed, “he left you all in the dark much like the Potters.”

“But will  **you** ?” Augusta said, her eyes narrowed to slits, “will  **you** finally tell me?”

“I will,” the Dark Lord said in a no-nonsense voice, before taking a deep breath, looking both of them in the eyes, “you certainly deserve as much.”

For a moment, deep and dangerous crimson eyes stared into the dark blue orbs of the witch opposite him.

“In early 1980, a spy of mine,” Tom began, gesturing towards Severus before reverting his attention back to the Lady of the Longbottom estate, “eavesdropped on a job interview between Albus Dumbledore and Sybill Trelawney for the position to teach Divination conducted at the Hog’s Head. Since my spy was caught by the barman, he only overheard half of the prophecy.”

As if on command, Severus began reciting the lines he had overheard, " _ The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches… Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies…. _ "

“Augusta, you are aware that death was the only thing I have ever feared,” Tom continued before anybody else could, “whoever this prophecy referred to would pose a serious threat not only to my plans and ambitions, but to my life. Therefore, I decided to eliminate the threat as soon as possible. Unfortunately, two couples who had thrice defied me gave birth at the end of July: the Potters and the Longbottoms. Since Harry was born on the last day of the seventh month and he was a Halfblood just like me, I decided to target him first.”

“You are a Halfblood?” Neville gasped, “but you ar-“

“Yes, I am,” Tom said curtly before continuing with the most painful part of the story, “since both couples had gone into hiding, hidden behind the Fidelius Charm, chances were slim to lure them into the open. Thankfully, a spy within the Order, Peter Pettigrew to be precise, eagerly disclosed the location of the Potters, since he had been chosen as their Secret Keeper, while the thief Mundungus Fletcher revealed the location of the Longbottoms after he got captured by a few of my Death Eat-“

“Mundungus Fletcher was their secret keeper?” Augusta asked incredulously, “that piece of dishonest, larcenous filth?”

“In retrospect, it is indeed a strange choice of Secret Keepers,” the Dark Lord chuckled, although there was no humour to his words, “as if somebody was keen to leak their whereabouts to the other side. It is most peculiar indeed. What happened at Godric’s Hollow on Samhain 1981 is even more so. I killed James and Lily Potter, before aiming my wand at Harry here. Instead of eliminating my apparent threat, the Killing Curse rebounded due to Lily Potter’s life sacrifice I had failed to notice, thus destroying my body, and reducing me to a discarnate spirit. Only then did I realise that I had walked straight into-“

“A trap,” Augusta concluded, the wheels inside her head spinning.

“Indeed, this was not a coincidence,” the Dark Lord confirmed with a slight nod of his head, “being who I am, I wanted to figure out how this could have happened to me. For that, I had to stay. Since there was only one living being left, the only option was staying with Harry, attaching myself to his soul. Sadly, instead of answers, I got to witness the true face of Albus Dumbledore as he forced Sirius Black to go after Peter Pettigrew instead of taking care of his godson, while eighty percent of said godson’s magic was being bound before the poor child was dumped on the doorsteps of the most magic hating, abusive Muggles I had ever had the displeasure to come across in the middle of the night.”

“Eighty percent?” Augusta exclaimed in horror as she looked at Harry with large eyes, “how are you still alive?”

“Tom helped me to undo the bindings,” his equal explained calmly, “once we had established a stable mental connection, he helped me in every way he could an-“

“Were you aware,” Neville interrupted his explanation, an expression of horror tainting his usually cheerful expression, “that he was your parents’ murderer back then?”

“Yes, I was,” Harry answered without hesitation, “he was always honest to me. I am deeply thankful for that. Since there was no way to uncover the true nature of the prophecy while being stuck with my  _ lovely  _ Muggle relatives, we established a truce until the time we would have access to the truth at Hogwarts.”

“Does Dumbledore suspect that your magic is now unbound?” Augusta asked, her eyes narrowed to slits.

“No,” Harry explained, “Tom and I have wondered a few times ourselves. Then again, I always keep my magic under tight wraps at Hogwarts and magical binds have the tendency to deteriorate over time, especially if subjected to powerful outburst of accidental magic caused by traumatic experiences. Still, even if he would try to get a read on my magic, there are ways to shield myself and I doubt that he would try unless absolutely necessary since he does not want to antagonise me. I think I am safe in that regard.”

“Good,” Augusta said, a faint smile gracing her stern face, “what did you discover at Hogwarts?”

“That the prophecy was fake,” Tom spat with more force than he had first anticipated, “that it was fabricated to lure me into destroying myself as one of two scenarios hinted at by the real prophecy which was uttered the day before during the real job interview of Sybill Trelawney.”

“What was the other scenario?” Augusta and Neville asked simultaneously, their voices equally eager.

“That we would rule together, preserving our magic,” Tom explained before Harry continued, “quite possibly saving us all if the contents of a much older Prophecy is to be believed.”

Over the course of the next hour, Tom and Harry explained the content and implications of the original prophecy to the eagerly and intently listening Longbottoms. Once they had finished, Augusta cleared her throat, “To sum it all up, Dumbledore lured you in a trap with a fake prophecy, risking and sacrificing the lives of two young families on his path to obliterate the Dark and establishing closer relations to the Muggles, thus aiming to nullify the International Statute of Secrecy which would most likely end in the obliteration of all magical beings.”

“That is the core of it,” Tom said, as always impressed by her sharp thinking, “but we are not here to talk about the manoeuvring of the Light and the Dark. For now, there are far more important things to address. I know that most of my  _ actions _ in the past, especially around Samhain of 1981, were caused by the manipulations of Dumbledore. Still, that does not entirely excuse the harm, sorrow, and grief I have caused to your family. For that, I sincerely apologise.”

“While that is good and well and I appreciate the sincerity of your apology,” Augusta said sternly, “I hardly think that this is the sole reason for this meeting today, is it not?”

“As sharp and perceptive as ever,” Tom chuckled, before turning serious once more, “indeed, it is not.”

“Then what do you want?” the witch asked, her words stern and underlined by a faint hint of urgency.

“As you are surely aware,” the Dark Lord began, his eyes piercing his opposite, “Sirius Black’s trial is scheduled for next Monday. He, much like many others of those currently  _ residing _ inside Azkaban, was never granted a trial. Instead, his wand was snapped, while he was immediately thrown into that hellhole. Given the discovery of his innocence, I hope that a lot of cases will finally be investigated the way they should have been a decade ago since I am most certain that a lot of witches and wizards inside Azkaban were unjustly condemned to life imprisonment. Still-“

“Are you trying to tell me,” Augusta spat, her magic swirling around her in anger, “that the scum who tortured my son and my daughter-in-law into insanity deserve a trial after everything they have done? They were found at the scene of the crime, laughing, and decla-“

“So was Sirius Black, yet he was innocent,” Tom raised his voice to cut short the witch, “please listen to me, Augusta. I am not saying that all of them are innocent. Still, I believe that there is more to this than first meets the eye. Are you willing to listen?”

After a long moment of silence, the stubborn witch finally signalled him to elaborate.

“When I decided to go after the Potters,” the Dark Lord began to explain, “only my most trusted were aware of the Prophecy and my plans. While some of them were eager to assist me, they were under strict orders to not interfere since I had decided to take care of the threat by myself. A few weeks before the faithful night of Samhain 1981, I explicitly forbade my followers to go after either the Potters or the Longbottoms. Most of my followers would have never questioned my decision. They would have accepted and obeyed my orders, even in case of my disappearance.”

“And yet they did not,” Augusta spat, “they did not!”

“Yes, they did not,” Tom sighed, “and that is the part where it gets messy. I have not spoken to them personally since their incarceration. Therefore, I cannot be entirely sure. Still, I have trained all four of them personally and pride myself in knowing my followers. Augusta, I trust my own judgement. I always have. Rodolphus and Rabastan never revelled in mindless torture. They could be vicious and violent when necessary, but they never tortured for the sake of pleasure. Never. And neither did Barty. The three of them would have never disobeyed my orders. They were too loyal for that. Even if they had, which I sincerely doubt, they would have killed your son and his wife after extracting any sort of useful information instead of torturing them into insanity.”

“How is that supposed to be better?” Neville screamed, his face a mask of pure fury and rage, “how is death better than being alive. How-“

“Neville, tell me, do you enjoy seeing your parents at St. Mungo’s reduced to an almost lifeless shell?” the Dark Lord asked, his words clipped, well aware of how cruel yet honest his words must feel, “to see them unable to move on, not even speaking about the torture they had to endure? Be honest with me. Can you stand their sight, their presence, without the thought crossing your mind that death might be preferable to their current state? That death might be salvation?”

Opposite of him, Neville had disappeared in his chair, all anger vanished as tears started flowing down his cheeks, “I… I… Yes… I have thought that… many times…”

“I am sorry for what happened to them, Neville,” Tom said in a much softer voice, “nobody deserves their fate. If I could help them, I would. Sadly, not even I can. I am afraid that the damage caused by the lengthy Cruciatus Curse is too severe to be reversed. Be assured that I would have never left someone like this. I would have ended it. I would have shown mercy and killed them. So would have Rodolphus, Rabastan, and Barty. I doubt that they would have tortured your parents into insanity, and they would have never left them that way. This whole debacle lines in with the things one specific individual would just have loved to do.”

“Bellatrix,” Corvus Lestrange’s impressive voice boomed through the room, “this is just one of the things Bellatrix would have loved to do. Augusta, you cannot imagine how much I regret agreeing to the marriage between my eldest and that insane and unstable woman. When I signed the marriage contract, I was unaware of her true nature since Cygnus and Druella had kept her true self expertly hidden until my signature underneath their marriage contract had been completed. I quickly learned that she loved to torture, revelled in the pain she caused, viewing it as a sign of loyalty to the Dark Lord.”

“Then why did she disobey his orders?” Augusta asked coldly, “if she was so  _ loyal _ ?”

“I can only guess,” Tom began, an image of the insane eyes of the eldest Black daughter flashing past his inner eyes, “but my sudden disappearance must have devastated her. Since she was aware of the identity and whereabouts of the two families that gave birth to my supposed nemesis, she must have gotten the idea that the Longbottoms must have known something about my supposed demise in her crazed quest to get back her Master. I would not be surprised if she had come up with her deranged plan in an impulse and that the others tried yet failed to stop her. I doubt that Rodolphus, Rabastan, and Barty cast a single curse on your son and his wife.”

“That is impossible,” Augusta whispered, “their wands must ha-“

“Their wands were snapped without being checked,” Corvus cut her short, “I bribed Auror Dawlish to get access to the files. Their wands were snapped immediately and the joke of a trial they received was nothing but a charade and a media spectacle to throw them as fast and as publicly into Azkaban as possible. All of them.”

“Then what do you want me to do with that information?” the Lady of the Longbottom estate asked, her voice still not above a whisper, before turning steely once more, “do you want me to turn a blind eye on those who have tortured Frank and Alice?”

“No,” Harry said after clearing his throat, “all we ask is that you assist us in finding the true perpetrator to ensure that justice is served. For that, we need a trial. Even with the possibility of some of the cases of those incarcerated in Azkaban being investigated due to the discovery of the innocence of Sirius Black, we all know that this specific case would be the last one to be presented to the Wizengamot, if not at all. Nobody would push forth to put the Lestranges’ on trial since they represent the scapegoats of the last Wizarding war. Even if somebody would push for a trial, it is unlikely that the Wizengamot would agree. There is only one person who could do that and that is you, Lady Longbottom.”

“You want me to demand a trial?” Augusta spat, her eyes narrowing to furious slits, “a trial for the torturers of my family?”

“Yes, that is the main reason why we are gathered here,” the Dark Lord said, his words accompanied by his most seductive smile, “to discuss you pushing forward a trial for the supposed torturers of Frank and Alice Longbottom.”

For a moment, Augusta stared at him, a perplexed look on her face which was mirrored on the face of her grandson, “Are you insane?”

“Maybe,” the Dark Lord chuckled, “but I have good arguments and an offer you will find hard to refuse. I can assure you that you will get the better end of the bargain.”

“Just to clarify things,” Augusta hissed, “what do you want?”

“Apart from secrecy about my new identity,” Tom smiled, “I only want you to suggest the reopening of the cases of the Lestranges once Sirius Black has been declared innocent and Peter Pettigrew has been sentenced. Nothing more.”

The eyes of the witch opposite him narrowed, “Nothing more?”

“Nothing more,” the Dark Lord confirmed, “I swear on my magic.”

“And what would I get in return?” Augusta hissed.

“While I would offer my help to improve the condition of your son and his wife, I know that it is a futile endeavour,” Tom sighed, “therefore, I offer something else. We all know that a war is looming on the horizon. Although I hope it will be less bloody than the first time around, I sadly cannot promise nor guarantee that it will be. Hence why I offer you my full protection of the survival of your line. As long as neither of you openly sides with Dumbledore and the Light, Harry and I as well as those supporting our cause will assure that no harm shall fall upon you. Your safety will be top priority and I will swear to keep my word. After all the cruelty that was forced upon you, you deserve as much.”

“While that is all good and well,” Augusta said after a moment of contemplation, “I demand further reparations from those who have harmed me. Even if it was just Bellatrix, she was a Lestrange after all. A Lestrange by marriage but still a part of their house.”

“As much as it pains me to acknowledge this, I have to agree with you, Augusta. Bellatrix is a Lestrange and thus a responsibility of my line. Therefore,” Corvus sighed, taking a deep breath before uttering the next words, “I feel obliged to remedy the atrocities mine have caused to you. As a sign of redemption, I offer to bind myself and those of my line to yours. I offer a Vassal Bond signed and sworn in blood.”

“A Vassal Bond?” the Lady of the Longbottom estate laughed darkly, “a Vassal Bond? Tell me, what use would that be since you are the last of your line? I researched your line and I know how paranoid your ancestors were. Your sons will not be able to take over the mantle of the Lordship because of their incarceration and neither will their children. This supposed bond is basically worthless since your line will die out anyway.”

“No, it will not,” Corvus’ dark eyes were sparkling dangerously, “my line will not die out. It will live on with my granddaughter.”

“You do not have a granddaughter,” Augusta said, shaking her head before suddenly coming to a halt, “unless… unless… You had an affair, did you not?”

Closing his eyes, the Lord of the Lestrange family sighed, “I was only… unfaithful to my wife once and that was before we were wed. In retrospect, it is a blessing since I would now be without my granddaughter.”

“Then why have you not made this public?” Augusta asked, her eyebrows narrowed.

“Because it was only discovered recently,” her adversary explained.

Tom felt an elbow connecting with his side. Looking to the side the elbow had come from, he saw Harry pointing at Neville, who was staring at the Lord of the Lestrange family, the wheels in his head turning until realisation hit him and he whispered, “Hermione.”

“Quite correct, Neville,” Harry chuckled, “she is a Lestrange.”

“My grandson’s Muggleborn friend, a member of Gryffindor house, is your granddaughter?” Augusta asked in disbelief.

“She is,” Corvus confirmed with a much firmer voice, his words laced with pride.

“Now, Augusta,” Tom spoke up, the words smoothly rolling off his tongue, “do you accept our offers?”

“I do,” the stern witch said, a calculating look on her otherwise impassive Pureblood mask, “under one condition. Since I assume that because of your youthful exterior you intend on going to Hogwarts right under Dumbledore’s overlong, crooked nose, I want you to personally train my grandson to prepare him for the war in every way possible.”

Next to her, the jaw of Neville dropped as his eyes flashed between his grandmother and the Dark Lord.

“He has come far in the last year,” Augusta continued, “but I am afraid that it is not enough for the war that will without doubt come. He needs to be ready. He needs to be strong. Will you train him?”

“I will,” Tom declared without hesitation, “we will teach him as best as we can. Do we have a deal?”

“From my perspective we do,” the Lady of the Longbottom estate said, “but since I am not the one who was wronged the most and it is not my future that will be affected too much since I am already old, it is not my right to decide. Neville, do you think that the Dark Lord and the Lestranges offer enough?”

Shaken by the sudden attention and the gravity of the decision, the heir to the Longbottom estate sank deeper in his chair. For a long moment, no one spoke. Then, a stern expression appeared on his round and chubby face as his back straightened in determination before he calmly stared into the crimson eyes of the Dark Lord, his blue eyes sparkling coldly, “I agree with your terms as long as you grant me the right to personally punish whoever tortured my parents.”

Impressed by the strong urge for revenge, Tom stretched out his hand despite Corvus’ protest from the side, “The right is yours, Neville Longbottom. Now, will you seal the deal?”

“I will,” the heir to the Longbottom estate declared, accepting the offered hand of the Dark Lord.


	4. Trials

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again a big Thank You to my fantastic Betas!

“Now that we have agreed on most points,” the Dark Lord said, the words smoothly rolling off his silver tongue, “would you mind if we have a quick lunch before we start the negotiations for the exact wording of the contract?”

Much like he had expected none of those present objected.

“Lord Malfoy, is Draco not home?” Neville asked some time later, looking up from his plate which was filled with a wide array of the most exquisite French delicacies, “I had hoped to talk to him today.”

“Draco is out of house,” the Lord of the Malfoy family answered, his voice smooth and silky, “he is accompanying my wife to Parkinson Manor. I do not expect them to be home before sunset since Lady Parkinson has the tendency to… drag things out. Should you leave before his return, just write an owl and you can arrange a proper meeting.”

“Thank you, Lord Malfoy,” Neville said, a faint smile gracing his face. Once Lucius Malfoy had acknowledged his words with a nod of his head, the heir of the Longbottom estate was about to turn his attention back to his meal, when his movement halted, “Gran, may I ask a question?”

“Of course, my dear,” Augusta smiled while shooting the Dark Lord an apologetic glance for disrupting their previous discussion.

At first, it appeared like no word would cross the lips of the nervous young wizard. Still, much like during the previous negotiations, Neville took a deep breath and straightened his back, “Gran, how do you know each other? This clearly is not the first time you have spoken.”

“No, it is not, Neville,” the Dark Lord chuckled, “we have spoken before. Augusta, I grant you permission to explain… our illustrious backstory.”

For a moment, the Lady of the Longbottom family appeared to be lost for words before she cleared her throat, “Are you allowing me to tell… everything?”

“Yes,” Tom said, a smile gracing his face at the thought of one of his greatest achievements, “while a decade spent in the company of abusive Muggles might not have been the most pleasurable thing I can imagine, it gave me time to come to terms with a few of my… shortcomings, especially my childhood. Therefore, I no longer feel the need to hide it from those I trust. Hence why I trust everyone present to not spread any information without my permission.”

“I am glad that you have finally come to terms with your past,” Augusta spoke up, thus breaking the silence, as she stared at Tom, clearly uncertain about the depths of information she was about to reveal. In the end, encouraged by the words of the Dark Lord, Augusta began to illustrate how their unconventional backstory had started, “Neville, I was in third year when a boy in second-hand robes with a common name that spoke of his Muggle origins was sorted into Slytherin, a boy by the name of Tom Riddle. As you can imagine, the entire school, teachers, and students alike, were rather upset since never in the castle’s long and illustrious history a Muggleborn student had been sorted into the house of snakes.”

“I thought you said that you were a Halfblood?” Neville asked, although avoiding eye contact with the Dark Lord.

“I am,” Tom spat despite trying to sound neutral, “but I discovered that part of my past only much later. When I started at Hogwarts, I was unaware of my heritage, having grown up in a Muggle orphanage where my mother, a witch and descendent of Salazar Slytherin himself, died giving birth to me, penniless, as she had been left by my Muggle father.”

Feeling the soothing touch of his equal on his arm, Tom calmed down, while Neville silently nodded his head in apparent understanding. After a few seconds, Augusta continued, “As much as he was unaware of his heritage, so was the rest of us. Since I never was a member of Slytherin house, I can only imagine how unpleasant it must have been for a supposed Muggleborn being sorted in a house full of Purebloods and sharing living quarters with them.”

“That would be an understatement,” the Dark Lord chuckled, one eyebrow raised, “if I have ever heard one. Still, I must say that I am surprised that students of other houses were concerned for my well-being.”

“Some of us were,” Augusta replied quickly, “although I must admit that others clearly were not. There was even a betting pool for how long you would last…”

“Somehow, I am not surprised… Gryffindors,” Tom snorted, “who did come up with this madness? Was it Charlus Potter or Clement McLaggen?”

“While Potter was a prankster at heart,” Augusta explained, “he would never do something so distasteful. Putting up a betting pool on the fate of a poor Muggleborn student was exactly something McLaggen would have done, and I assure you, he did.”

Neville snorted, “No wonder why I hate Cormac and Rory so much. They are awful.”

“Exactly,” Harry chuckled, “it must run in the family.”

“Are you going to… seek revenge?” Augusta asked, her words laid out carefully.

“No,” Tom snorted, “not because of something so petty that happened decades ago. Still, as some of my contacts have assured me, the name ‘McLaggen’ is attached to some pretty shady dealings on the black market, especially concerning the trade of illegal Dragonhide. A few words in the right ears would certainly do the job. Maybe I will make sure that these words are whispered, maybe not. For now, I do not care. Please continue, Augusta.”

“Much like many at the time, I was curious how the poor boy would fare in the snake pit,” Augusta continued to elaborate, “surprisingly, no words of what happened inside the Slytherin common room ever reached the outside.”

“Gran, because to the outside,” Neville chirped, “Slytherins always present a united front.”

“While that might be true,” the Dark Lord injected, “what happened within the common room was far from pleasant, but I dealt with it. Just like I always did.”

“Still, the only thing those of us outside Slytherin heard,” the Lady of the Longbottom family continued, “was that the Muggleborn boy, apart from spending an awful lot of time in the library all by himself, appeared to stand out in class, outshining everyone with his deep knowledge of Magical theory and a masterful control over his magic. I must admit that this piqued my curiosity. Therefore, a couple of weeks before Halloween, I decided to approach him to ha-“

“Decided to approach _him_?” the Dark Lord injected, one eyebrow raised in question, as a coughing sound escaped his mouth in feigned mockery, “or was it because all tables in the library were occupied, while mine was the sole one not crowded to its maximum capacity?”

“I would say there is truth to both our statements,” Augusta chuckled, not at all phased by the mockery, “anyway, in the end I sat down at your table only for me to find out that you did not want to be bothered and refused to exchange a single word with me apart from your rather _welcoming_ greeting.”

“I was busy studying,” Tom defended himself, while rolling his eyes in apparent annoyance, “and I hate being interrupted.”

“Which I soon realised,” Augusta said, somehow managing to maintain her straight face.

“Yes, he does,” Harry chuckled, before she could continue, “there is nothing worse than interrupting him whenever he is absorbed in his studies. I can attest to that.”

“That is the conclusion I soon reached, too,” the Lady of the Longbottom family continued, her words light, “it proved to be impossible to distract him from his books to obtain any remotely useful information. Hence, why I soon turned my attention to my Transfiguration essay. Much to my surprise, this soon piqued the curiosity of young Mister Riddle, although in the most peculiar way.”

“Did he remark how annoying the scratching of your quill was,” Harry asked, looking genuinely curious, “or did he correct you?”

“The latter,” Augusta laughed, her eyes sparkling in amusement, “I was rather surprised that a student two years younger than me who had just arrived at Hogwarts and who clearly had not been tutored before began to mock and criticise my essay. At first, I thought he had gone crazy. Then, I got the impression that he was trying to make fun of me. Only after he began to explain the theory of the Transfiguration we were covering in class at that time, I realised that he was right and that he, a first year who had lived his entire life in the Muggle world, knew more about magic than me. While at first, I was a bit underwhelmed because of his personality, my curiosity had only increased during this first meeting. Therefore, I decided to join him more often in the library. A fact whi-”

“Which I did not like at all,” the Dark Lord spat, although it sounded more endearing than anything else, “she continued to pester me with her presence and her dreadful Transfigurations and Potions essays until one day I wou-“

“He would finally confront me about my motives and began to talk about something else than school work, even if it was just to question my presence,” Augusta laughed, “eventually, we broadened the scope of the subjects we discuss, though it took quite a bit of time. While I think that the term ‘friends’ would be a bit of an overstatement, I would say that we grew to respect each other. In all honesty, I was deeply surprised how much knowledge he had obtained in such a short amount of time, how much thought he had given the developments not only within the magical community of the British Isles, but also the developments overseas, and how much our opinions were alike. For a supposed Muggleborn to sympathise with Pureblood values because of crisp and clean logic was unheard of at that time, especially given Dumbledore’s rapidly increasing popularity. For that, I respected Tom. I still do.”

“Then why did you never join him?” Neville asked, “if your opinions were so similar?”

“At that time, I was already betrothed to your grandfather,” Augusta explained, a sad look in her eyes, before her eyes turned steely, “while I have always loved him dearly, our opinions regarding the different factions of Wizarding society, namely the Pureblood traditionalists and the pro-Muggle reformists have always differed. He has always been an avid supporter of Dumbledore’s pro-Muggle politics. The best I could do was reaching an agreement to stay neutral, which I knew at least Tom would respect. Sadly, Dumbledore never did. While the old coot had luckily never been able to recruit my husband, he succeeded in gaining the loyalty of my only son. No matter how often I would try to make Frank see reason, he never listened, too brainwashed by Dumbledore’s preaching of love and unity between the Muggles and us. For that, I will never forgive the poisonous seducer that is Albus Dumbledore.”

With her fierce and honest declaration, Augusta Longbottom had gained the respect and support of the three Lords at the table as well as the undying love of her grandson. Tom could clearly see it in the eyes of Corvus Lestrange, Lucius Malfoy, and Severus Snape, while the determined expression of Neville Longbottom spoke louder than words. Still, to the Dark Lord, and by extent his Equal, the words of the Lady of the Longbottom estate were hardly surprising. Since those days at Hogwarts, he had always known that the fierce witch was not an enemy. Now, it appeared like he had gained an ally, a fierce ally indeed.

Many hours later, Tom looked up from the parchment he had been hunched over for what felt like an eternity. Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, he placed the quill on the table and stretched the fingers of his right hand to lessen the pain of the cramp in his muscles and bones. After a particularly long exhale, the Dark Lord opened his eyes. Immediately, he focussed his attention on the parchment ahead of him, taking in every detail of the contract that had been meticulously sketched out over the course of the last hours.

The corners of his mouth curled into a sharp grin. It was not every day that one got to negotiate with a worthy opponent of the calibre of Augusta Longbottom.

The witch certainly had not made it easy. In fact, she had fought tooth and nail to ensure that the contract between both parties was not worded to the Longbottom’s disadvantage. Since Tom had wanted to be fair and thought that she deserved as much, he had done nothing more than preventing any negative consequences for their side. Consequently, the negotiations had not been so much about advantages and disadvantages. It had been more about maintaining a balance between the two factions. As far as Tom could tell, they had been successful.

After scanning the Magical Contract one last time, he offered the piece of parchment to the Lady of the Longbottom estate. The witch quickly accepted the parchment. Fractions of a second later, instead of quietly reading the document, Augusta began to explain the implications of the exact wording to her grandson in a hushed voice. Occasionally, Neville would confirm that he had in fact understood the nuances of the contract. Once the two of them had finished, Augusta looked up from the piece of parchment, “Before we sign this, I must ask you one last time if you truly intend to keep your end of the bargain. Now, Tom, are you?”

The corners of the Dark Lord’s lips curled into a mocking smile, “Augusta, do you honestly think so lowly of me? You, out of all witches and wizards who have met me, should be more than aware that I am not somebody who backs out of a deal at the last minute. If I offer you something, I fully intend on going through with it. I will keep my end of the bargain. Now, Augusta, will you?”

“Of course, I will,” the stern witch spat out, sounding rather offended at being questioned, despite having just done the same to her opposite. A dry snort escaped the Dark Lord as he grinned at the Lady of the Longbottom estate before raising a challenging eyebrow at the witch, “Well, let us get on with it.”

“No,” Neville broke the silence, his calculating eyes on the Lord of the Lestrange family, “does Hermione know about this deal? After all, it will affect her the most since she is the heiress of your line. Is she aware that you are about to bind her future to serve my line?”

Opposite of the Heir of the Longbottom line, Corvus Lestrange's face turned serious, “Despite her not being here in person, my granddaughter and heiress is aware of the gravity of the situation. While we have not discussed this in person, we have exchanged plenty of letters. As surprising as it may seem, Hermione does not oppose my decision. Instead, she fully supports our attempt at building bridges. She does not want the bad blood between our families to continue, especially since she considers you to be her friend, Neville. Therefore, she accepts the vassal bond as long as it does not involve a marriage clause and does not dictate certain aspects of her future, especially her voting decisions in the Wizengamot. Since the bond in the form we agreed upon only extends to the safekeeping of your line, as ensured by my line to our best abilities, there should be no reason for her to oppose the completion of the bond. Still, I am glad that you care.”

“We are friends after all,” Neville said, a smile on his face, before he turned towards the Dark Lord, his blank Pureblood mask once again firmly in place, “I think there is a contract to be signed.”

In a blink of an eye, a blood quill was produced out of the depths of the Dark Lord’s pockets. Opposite of him, Augusta’s eyes grew wide at the sight of the dark object, obviously in awe that he had somehow managed to get hold of the heavily regulated and tightly monitored device. Not one to hesitate for long, the Dark Lord quickly snatched the magical contract out of Augusta’s hands and swiftly added his signature at the end of the document, refusing to flinch as letter by letter got carved on the back of his hand. Not even bothering to look at the scarlet letters on his hand, the Dark Lord quickly passed the quill to his equal. Since they were so closely connected, both by soul and by blood, it was better for both of them to sign a document as binding as this one to prevent unforeseen backlash. Therefore, Harry quickly added his signature before Corvus, too, although rather reluctantly scribbled his name on the piece of parchment.

Once Corvus had removed his gaze from the still wet signature, Tom’s eyes immediately landed on Augusta who was watching her adversary like a hawk. Without a word, the Lord of the Lestrange family offered her the blood quill, the letters on the back of his hand still sparkling in an angry crimson. Without warning, the Lady of the Longbottom estate snatched the dark object out of her adversary’s hand before the parchment immediately followed suit. The eyebrows of the Dark Lord shot up as the blood quill angrily scratched over the parchment, much more vicious than necessary. Apparently, Augusta was quite eager to get over with this as quickly as possible.

Finally, the blood quill was passed to her grandson. At first, Neville hesitated to accept the dark object, eyeing it with suspicion. Taking a deep breath, the heir of the Longbottom estate took the blood quill and placed the shaking tip of the quill at the end of the magical contract. Failing to entirely swallow the hiss of pain escaping his lips, Neville clenched his teeth as letter after letter was carved onto the back of his hand. Once the signature had been completed, he let go of the blood quill immediately, ferociously starting to scratch his injured hand.

“Do not do that,” Tom said, grabbing Neville’s uninjured hand, “it will only make things worse. The cuts will heal in no time if you leave them alone. I am aware how much it hurts but interfering with the healing process in any sort will certainly do more harm than good, especially since the quill was not used more than once. Just try to ignore the burn. It will soon cease. Still, I am not ashamed to admit that it is a blessing that the usage of these things is not required frequently.”

Opposite of him, a faint smile appeared on the face of the Longbottom heir. Internally, the Dark Lord had no idea why he was trying to comfort the boy who had finally grown a backbone, but maybe that was the exact reason why he had started to respect Neville. Deciding to ignore his feelings for now, Tom reached for the abandoned blood quill, magically returning the Dark object to the Goblins, who as of now were the only ones aside from a selected few Ministry officials allowed to handle the banned objects.

Once the Blood Quill had disappeared out of sight, the Dark Lord offered his hand to the Longbottom heir. Without another word, Neville accepted the hand and began to recite the words all parties present had agreed upon, “Do you, Tom Marvolo Riddle, also known as the Dark Lord Voldemort and Thomas Nero Prince, swear to protect me, Neville Frank Longbottom, and those of my line to your and your followers’ best abilities?”

Not faltering, Tom replied, “I, Tom Marvolo Riddle, also known as the Dark Lord Voldemort and Thomas Nero Prince, swear to protect you, Neville Frank Longbottom, and those of your line to my and my followers’ best abilities. So mote it be.”

Once he had finished his last words, the magic in the room flared up, enveloping the Dark Lord, his Equal and the two members of the Longbottom family in a bright cocoon of magic, thus sealing the vow. Fractions of a second later, the magic within the room settled down again, signalling that the vow had been completed. Since no third party had been involved and he had not sworn on his magic, the vow could not be classified ‘unbreakable’, a type of bond Tom had hoped to evade because of its gruelling requirements and consequences should he neglect his duties, even if only by accident. With this normal magical vow, he would still try his best to protect the Longbottoms without the negative drawbacks of an Unbreakable Vow.

Unlike the rather ‘loose’ character of the magical vow he had sworn, the Vassal Bond was much more serious. Much more binding. Preparing and out mapping the Rune circle took almost a couple of hours alone, not speaking of the tedious process of modifying the standard Latin wording.

It was almost midnight when preparations had been finished. After exchanging one last reassuring look with the Dark Lord, Corvus Lestrange took his position within the Rune circle. Surrounded by a myriad of complex Pictish Runes - after all, the magical Vassal Bond had been invented in magical Britain during the Roman invasion thus explaining the rather unusual combination of Languages and Runes - the Lord of the Lestrange family sank to his knees.

Over the course of the next hour, the magic within the Ritual Chamber of Malfoy Manor rose steadily as the Ancient and Most Noble Houses of Longbottom and Lestrange were bound together in a way which had not been used in centuries. Tom felt the magic singing around him, seemingly over joyous that the feud between the two houses had finally come to an end. Apparently, Magic herself approved of the Vassal Bond. It almost felt like Magic herself was relieved that the ancient bond had not been lost.

Tom had to cover his eyes to shield himself from the blinding light which was starting to encompass the Longbottoms and Corvus Lestrange as their fates were woven together. A strange ethereal sound echoed through the chamber as the light shone at its brightest, making the hair on the Dark Lord’s arms stand on end. After a few seconds, he lowered his hands to inspect the Rune circle ahead of him. Fortunately, the bright light was slowly getting to a more bearable, more eye-friendly level as the scene unfolded.

While the Longbottoms had somehow remained standing, although even from a distance their buckling legs were more than noticeable, the proud Corvus Lestrange was lying on his back, clutching his chest in pain, panting heavily. Without another thought, Tom was by his side, taking hold of his friend’s trembling hands as he investigated the dark orbs of his opposite, “Corvus, stop fighting! The pain will cease once you have fully accepted the bond.”

The Lord of the Lestrange family stopped his struggle as he attempted to control his breathing. After a few minutes, most signs of pain had disappeared from his face.

“How are you feeling, old friend?” the Dark Lord asked, the concern in his words unconcealed, “is it better?”

Slowly, the Lord of the Lestrange family nodded his head in confirmation, “I feel better now, although I certainly do not want to experience something like this ever again. I do understand the warnings in the ancient tome now. The bond really… influences one’s magical core. It felt like my magical core was being ripped off my very soul to be restructured and bound to the essence of the Longbottoms. Thankfully, it is now reattached. Still, it feels strange… Like something foreign and familiar at the same time.”

“Why were you clutching your chest?” Harry asked once Corvus had stopped speaking, “it looked like your core was not the only part of yourself being affected.”

For a moment, the Lord of the Lestrange appeared to be confused before realisation dawned on his face. Without another word, he started to unbutton the topmost buttons of his black dress shirt. The Dark Lord narrowed his eyes as the first crimson Runes came into view. This side-effect of the Vassal Bond certainly had not been mentioned in the ancient tome containing the instructions for the ritual. Tom gasped when his old friend pushed the fabric of his shirt to the sides to reveal his chest.

There was a mark in the centre of Corvus Lestrange’s chest. A mark which appeared to be burned into his pale, tender flesh. It looked raw and inflamed, almost like a fresh branding, although thankfully lacking the horrific smell of scorched flesh. Only once he had gotten past the shock of seeing the marred skin of his old friend, the Dark lord began to inspect the mark in detail. At first, Tom was confused by the seemingly random components of the mark. Then, the pieces of the puzzle slowly started to unravel.

The ancient Germanic Rune “Laguz” was located at the very centre of the mark. At first, Tom thought very little of it. After all, the Rune representing ‘water’ or ‘the sea’ was a fairly common one. Only when his eyes landed on the Hydra whose body and countless heads were wrapped around the letter did the pieces of the puzzle finally make sense.

While the Longbottom family currently resided in Devon, they had not always lived there. Being one of the original Pureblood families from the British Isles, they had originally lived in the north of Scotland at the edges of the deepest lake, Loch Ness, which had once upon a time been known for inhabiting a large population of Hydras, the last on the British Isles. The name ‘Longbottom’ originated from the rather special location of the original family manor. Connecting the titbits of information, Tom deduced that the symbol on Corvus’ chest must be the original coat of arms of the Longbottom family which had been used before the family had switched to the more public-friendly, ‘Light’ version used today. The coat of arms itself was encompassed by a myriad of Runes containing the exact wording of the Bond Corvus Lestrange had agreed to. Overall, the mark was an incontestable and undeniable proof of the sworn allegiance of the Lestrange family. As far as Tom was aware, each member of the Ancient and Most Noble line would receive a similar mark upon reaching maturity or upon accepting the terms of the bond in blood if they were already off age.

Negotiations with the Longbottoms had proven to be quite surprising indeed.

On Sunday morning, Harry could not help himself but groan as he drifted back towards consciousness, even though the electrifying fingers of the Dark Lord were gentry combing through his unruly locks. How he wished to go back to sleep again to simply evade the next few days. Sadly, he could not. Still, he wished he could.

“Good morning,” Tom’s hot breath brushed over his ear, “are you ready?”

“Not really,” Harry groaned, pulling the shared blanket under his chin, “I wish we did not have to do this.”

“So do I,” the Dark Lord replied while continuing to let his finger wander through his equal’s hair, “so do I… Sadly, for our plans to blossom we have to… Despite how much we wish there was another way. Unfortunately, this is the only way.”

“Will you be with me?” Harry asked although he already knew the answer, opening his eyes for the very first time of the day. He was rewarded immediately as he got lost in the deep and dangerous crimson eyes of his opposite.

“Of course,” Tom replied, his voice gentle and smooth, “as much as I can. Always remember that you are never alone. Even if I am not with you physically, the connection between us is still there, even if it is not as strong as it should and will be.”

Upon hearing the Dark Lord’s words which had been spoken with so much certainty, the corners of Harry’s mouth curled into a faint smile, “I know, and you cannot imagine how much that means to me.”

Despite the reassurance of the Dark Lord, the farewell a few hours later certainly was not an easy one. After being wrapped in Tom’s arms for what felt like an eternity, the Dark Lord stepped back leaving him alone for the first time in his life. For as long as Harry could remember, Tom had always been there for him. Therefore, seeing him step into the green flames of the hearth before disappearing from view, beginning to spin around his own axis, was just heart-breaking. Deep down, Harry was aware that the separation would not last forever, only a few days at the most, and that it was for a good cause since it was vital for the progression of their plans. Still, those thoughts did very little to calm him. Declining Severus’ offer to help him with the creation of a new Potion, Harry retreated to his and Tom’s room.

Many hours later, he was lost in thoughts, the unmistakable scent of Tom emerging from the Dark Lord’s pillow being the only thing soothing him at least a bit. So far, he had heard nothing from the Dark Lord. Since the weakened link between the two of them only allowed Tom to directly communicate with him, the only thing Harry could do was waiting for a sign of life from the most important person in his life. In times like these, Harry envied Tom’s ability to use the link. While he had tried to access the link to send a message to the Dark Lord, the connection simply refused to work for him even though Tom had promised to never block the link. Cursing the weakened connection, Harry buried his head deeper in the Dark Lord’s pillow inhaling the familiar and beloved, almost addicting scent, counting down the minutes until he would finally hear from Tom.

It was almost dark outside when Harry stepped into the small living room of Spinner’s End. Having heard the feet on the floor, Severus looked up from his Potions’ notes, his dark eyes on Harry, “I take it that he is still alive and that the first step of your plan has been executed?”

Nodding in confirmation, Harry let himself fall on one of the cozy armchairs opposite of the Potions Master, “Yes, he is fine.”

“You do not seem convinced,” Severus remarked, putting his notes on the small coffee table next to his chair, his attention now solely on Harry, “why is there doubt in your words?”

Closing his eyes, Harry sighed, “While I do not doubt that Tom is safe and knows what he is doing, the situation itself… just makes my skin itch… if you know what I mean.”

“I take it you have never been alone like this,” Severus concluded, his words full of compassion as he stared at his godson.

Again, Harry nodded his head in confirmation, “No, never.”

“I have been alone for so long that I can hardly imagine sharing a life with someone else, especially on the level that you have,” Severus said after a moment of silence, “maybe I can grasp the gravity of the situation, probably never entirely since I have never had a similar experience, if you want to tell me how the connection between the two of you has affected your life. They say that sharing lessens the burden one has to carry. Although as always, I am highly sceptical of such sentimentalities, there might be a bit of truth to the saying. But only if you want to.”

For a few seconds, Harry contemplated the words of the Potions Master. Normally, he would never share details of the connection between himself and the Dark Lord. Still, under normal circumstances he could always talk to Tom. His absence changed quite a few things he had taken for granted. Since Severus was already in the know about some aspects of their special connection Harry deemed it safe to reveal more. After all, the Potions Master could and would never reveal any sensitive information.

“Very well,” Harry whispered, closing his eyes before taking a deep breath, “you must understand that for me life was and has always been different. Still, from a very early age I was aware that the presence of Tom was neither imaginary nor normal, yet I would not have it any other way since he was always there for me. When I woke up, he was there for me. When my _lovely_ relatives would abuse me, he was there for me, always with an encouraging word for me and death threats for my relatives on his lips. When I was forced to do their housekeeping, he was there for me. In the loneliness of my cupboard, he was there for me. At school, he was there for me. When I went to sleep, he was there for me. He simply was always by my side. Always encouraging me, yet never pitying me, despite the severity of the circumstances and the threat I was prophesied to pose to his existence. Despite everything, he was always there for me and I was always there for him. My situation was not the only dire one. You cannot imagine how difficult and frustrating it was for Tom. Although at first, he tried to hide it from me, he did eventually share his thoughts with me. Despite everything, he is a human being just like everybody else. Over time, we just got to know the other inside and out. There were no secrets between the two of us and no problem we could not solve together. And best of all, we were always there for each other. Losing the presence of one another, especially the ability to communicate without limitations, without borders, scares me since for as long as I can remember, I could always count on him. Him not being with me simply is something as foreign to me as it would be for you to be stuck with someone all day without any breaks. I am simply not used to this and to be honest with you, I do not want to. I know that this is not healthy, yet I cannot find the energy to care and thu-“

Before he could say more, he felt strong arms enveloping him in a comforting embrace, “Enough. It is okay. While I will never fully understand the gravity and the extent of your connection with the Dark Lord, I comprehend now why this situation is not easy for you since you never had to experience being alone. Since I am now aware how much his presence means to you, all I can say is that I fully support your plans to restore your unique connection despite the concern I have previously voiced, especially regarding your age. Despite my support, I also want you to know that while there was, is, and always will be Tom in your life, there are also other people who will support you as well. I want you to know that I am one of them. Therefore, be sure that we will make it through the next days together.”

The next morning, his bed was strangely cold. Tom was still gone.

Despite the absence of the Dark Lord, Harry jumped out of the bed with new-found determination. The talk with Severus last night and his short conversation with Tom before falling asleep had done wonders. Besides, today was an important day.

After finishing his daily exercise routine and taking a quick shower, he took his time getting dressed. After all, he was keen on making a good first impression. Today would mark the first public appearance of ‘Harry Potter’. The place for his return into the magical world had been selected carefully – in front of the entire Wizengamot, the highest-ranking Ministry employees, and the Minister himself. While he had interacted with some Ministry officials, a handful of selected Purebloods, and the Minister himself during the traditional Yule Ball at Malfoy Manor, the general public had not interacted with ‘Harry Potter’ yet. The trial of Sirius Black would be one of the most important trials of the century. Therefore, Harry was sure that no member of the Wizengamot, thus each head of every faintly important Pureblood line as well as the most influential and powerful Halfblood and Muggleborn witches and wizards, and no reporter would willingly miss the spectacle. All in all, it was the perfect occasion to properly enter the stage of politics.

Because of the significance of the event, a proper exterior was vital. While he had no intention of shedding the image of the “Boy Who Lived”, the conqueror of the Dark Lord and saviour of the Wizarding world, he was keen to prove that he was not utterly oblivious to Wizarding customs and traditions and instead supported the preservation of magic. Therefore, he had opted for traditional black Wizarding robes of the highest quality. The Goblin tailors truly had outdone themselves. The quality of the silver and emerald stitching of the Potter family crest on the back was exquisite to the point that most Purebloods would be puzzled of the origins of the robes and envious, nonetheless. Nevertheless, the robes would not hinder him in any way. Despite their obvious formal appearance, they were as good and as functional as every duelling robe.

Once he had finished buttoning his robes and straightened his unruly hair to the best of his abilities, he headed for breakfast.

“While I think you look phenomenal in those robes,” Severus said, after he had lowered the latest issue of the Daily Prophet, “I still do not understand why you refuse to incorporate the traditional colouring of the Potter family into your wardrobe.”

“Sure,” Harry snorted, one eyebrow raised, “there is nothing more that I desire than looking like a Christmas tree. Still, I think you would look exceptionally handsome in one of those plum-coloured robes the members of the Wizengamot simply love to wear.”

For a moment, the Potions was lost for words, images of those ghastly robes surely flooding his mind. Harry had no idea why somebody had thought it would be a good idea to introduce a standard uniform for the members of the Wizengamot, least of all select this particular shade of purple. Luckily, Lords and Ladies of the ancient Pureblood lines and their heirs as well as the Chief Warlock were exempt from the rule and could thus dress as they pleased. Otherwise, Harry doubted that Severus would have ever set a foot in the courtrooms of the Ministry. The aversion of colourful clothing of the Lord of the Prince family was almost legendary.

“Or maybe,” Harry spoke into the silence, “you would look just as lovely in one of the tasteful patterns the Headmaster likes to wear. I truly enjoy the floral patterns he recently appears to favour, especially the one with the turquoise, orange, and yellow combination he wore at the farewell feast. That pattern would just look lovely combined with your black hair and you-“

“Enough,” Severus hissed, “I want to spend my breakfast in peace before I have to endure those incompetent fools that call themselves the elite of our society.”

Chuckling to himself, Harry took a seat at the table and reached for a slice of toast, clearly amused by the moods of the Potions Master.

Once they had finished breakfast, Harry and Severus Apparated to Malfoy Manor. In the lavish entrance hall, they were immediately welcomed by the Lord of the Malfoy estate who had opted for silver robes with green and black highlights to honour the colours of his family, “Good morning. You two just look perfect for today’s special occasion. I must congratulate your tailors. Where can I find them?”

“Right at Gringotts,” Harry chuckled, eagerly waiting for the reaction of the Malfoy Lord. He did not have to wait long.

“The Goblins tailored your robes?” Lucius asked incredulously.

“Yup,” Harry said popping the ‘p’, “they can be quite resourceful once they have decided that you are not their enemy.”

“I see,” Lucius said, his voice silky once again, “I take it that your plans are advancing. I hope you will on day not regret your trust in the Goblins.”

“No, certainly not,” Harry chuckled, “as far as Tom did tell me, our plans are advancing as they should be, which is due in no small part to the dedication of the Goblins. I must remind you one more time that Tom and I trust the Goblins to keep up their end of the bargain. But enough of the Goblins. Where is Draco? I know that we plan on arriving late, but I am not keen to miss this spectacle because we arrive too late.”

“Draco currently is with his mother,” Lucius sighed while rolling his eyes, “she insisted that he has to look ‘presentable’ to not bring any shame to the family name.”

“For how long has he been in the clutches of Narcissa?” Severus asked, one eyebrow raised as he eyed the Lord of the Malfoy family, his arms locked in front of his chest.

“A couple of hours maybe,” Lucius answered, although he carefully averted the eyes of the Potions Master, “I was busy studying my correspondence. Therefore, I am uncertain.”

Shaking his head, Severus snorted, “You are just glad that Narcissa is not fussing over your wardrobe for a change.”

Being the diplomatic man that he was, the Lord of the Malfoy family opted to remain silent, thus answering everything that needed to be answered. As he was musing to himself, Harry was just about to open his mouth when he heard quick steps on the cold marble stairs. Looking up, a clearly exasperated Draco was sprinting down the chairs, clearly not caring about maintaining his dignity since it was quite obvious that he was trying to get as much distance between himself and his mother as possible.

“Hello, Draco,” Harry chuckled, failing to keep the amusement out of his words, “you look absolutely splendid. How was your morning?”

“Hullo, Harry,” the heir of the Malfoy family said, his words hushed, obviously not in the mood for any banter as he turned to his father, sounding rather desperate, almost like he was pleading, “father, when are we leaving?”

Ignoring the snort from the amused Potions Master, a concerned Lucius threw a quick glance at the stairs, “As quickly as possible.”

“It almost seems like you are more afraid of Narcissa when she is in one of her fashion sprees to ensure that your family’s exterior, be it your wardrobe or the decoration within this Manor, leaves nothing to be desired while awakening the envy in those around you,” Severus drawled as the corners of his mouth curled into a sinister smile. Sadly, before the dour man could continue, an exasperated, eye-rolling Lucius signalled Harry and Draco to grab his left arm before reaching out for the arm of the Potions Masters. Fractions of a second later, the four re-materialised within the Apparition area of the Atrium of the Ministry of Magic. Since only the Lords of the Ancient and Noble Pureblood lines holding a seat of the Wizengamot and the highest-ranking Ministry officials were granted permission to directly apparate in and out of the Ministry, the area was deserted.

As opposed to the Apparition area, the remainder of the Atrium was buzzing with life. Witches and wizards of all ages and occupations were rushing through the long and splendid hall with its highly polished, dark wood floor. The peacock-blue ceiling above them was inlaid with gleaming golden symbols that were continually moving and changing like some enormous heavenly notice board, while the walls on each side were panelled in shiny dark wood and had many gilded fireplaces set into them. Every few seconds a witch or wizard would emerge from one of the left-hand fireplaces with a soft whoosh; on the right-hand side, short queues of wizards were forming before each fireplace, waiting to depart.

Ignoring the streams of witches and wizards for now, Harry followed Lucius and Draco towards a set of golden gates. On their way, they passed the Fountain of Magical Brethren, depicting a noble-looking wizard with his wand pointing straight up in the air accompanied by a beautiful witch. The pair was surrounded by a Centaur, a Goblin, and a House Elf, all of which smaller than the two figures in the centre of the fountain. Harry barely suppressed a sneer at the sight. Firstly, because of the unfavourable and certainly degrading depiction of the Centaur, the Goblin, and the House Elf, and secondly because of the blatant absence of several other magical species, like Vampires, Werewolves, and the Merpeople, only to name a few. Should he and Tom ever seize control of the Ministry, the Fountain would be one of the first things to go.

Before Harry could think more about the hideous reminder of creature discrimination, they had already passed the golden gates and had arrived at a security stand where a young guard stopped Severus, “Professor Snape, I am afraid I cannot let you pass without registering your wand first.”

Burying his annoyance behind a masquerade of indifference, Severus reluctantly handed his new wand to the guard, “I am glad to see that you found employment at the Ministry, Broadmoor. I was under the impression that you were eager to pursue a career on the Quidditch Pitch just like your father and brother, especially because of your _interest_ in your schooling.”

At that, the ears of the guard turned an interesting shade of red as he lowered his head, “I… I was suspended from the Falcons.”

“Why am I not surprised,” the Potions Master drawled, before stretching out his hand, hissing impatiently, “my wand. I would rather have it back before you manage to break it.”

In his haste to register the wand, a jet of sparks shot out of the tip of the Potions Master’s wand, nearly igniting the registration forms on the guard’s desk. Thankfully, the remainder of the wand registration progressed without further disturbances. In his eagerness to not further anger the Potions Master, the guard even refrained from questioning Harry’s presence. 

A few days ago, the Goblins had finally officiated the change of Harry’s guardianship as well as updated Severus’ change in legal status. Because of the ineffectiveness of the legal proceedings within the Ministry, the changes had luckily remained undiscovered.

Once the doors of the lift had closed behind Harry, the Potions Master turned towards the Lord of the Malfoy family, ignoring the swarm of pale-violet paper aeroplanes, the interdepartmental memos used to convey messages between the different departments of the Ministry, whirring above their heads, “Please tell me, that this was the first and last time that I had to hand my wand to a brainless imbecile like Broadmoor when entering this _esteemed_ building.”

“Once you have become an official member of the Wizengamot,” Lucius explained, “you and your ward can pass freely.”

Without warning, the lift moved downwards. Surprised by the speed, Harry almost lost his footing. The only thing keeping him upright was the firm grip of Severus’ hand on his shoulder, who was thankfully tall enough to reach one of the few handles above their heads. Rushing past the ninth floor housing the Department of Mysteries, they soon arrived at their destined floor.

Apart from a few holding cells, the lowest level of the Ministry of Magic was solely reserved for the courtrooms of the Wizengamot. Without further ado, Lucius led them straight past the smaller courtrooms towards the end of the corridor.

Two Aurors guarded the large open double doors of Courtroom Ten, urging the last witches and wizards to enter as the trial within was soon to commence. Refusing to quicken his pace, the Aurors were about to close the doors when the Lord of the Malfoy family arrived at the end of the corridor.

“You are late, Lord Malfoy” one of the Aurors, a young woman with bright pink hair, scolded the Lord of the Malfoy family.

“Trainee Tonks,” Lucius replied, his voice silky yet deadly as a viper, “we would have arrived much sooner if we had not been halted at the wand registration point by the employees of this very Ministry. Furthermore, I must once again remind you of your status as a trainee while I as a member of the Wizengamot certainly have other places to be than answer your unwarranted questions. Auror Shacklebolt, I certainly do not want to disrupt today’s proceedings any further. Therefore, I must ask to let us pass now.”

Not waiting for an answer from the dark-skinned Auror, the Lord of the Malfoy family strode past the two Aurors, his son, Severus, and Harry following suit.

“Lucius, I am glad you could make it,” the voice of Albus Dumbledore echoed through the packed rows of Courtroom Ten, “now that we are comple-“

The Chief Warlock halted mid-word as his eyes landed on Harry and the Potions Master by his side, his eyes growing wide, before he regained his ability to talk, “Severus, what are you doing here?”

“I am surprised that you ask,” Lucius Malfoy’s silky words disrupted the brief silence following the Chief Warlock’s question before any of the reporters present could even lift a finger, “Severus here asked me to officially introduce him to the ranks of the Wizengamot as he intends to obtain his rightful place amongst our ranks as the Lord of the Prince estate, his birthright, as he is the sole son of Eileen Prince, the only child of the late Lord Octavian Prince.”

“I was unaware that you were eligible for becoming the head of the Prince line,” Dumbledore said, trying his best to maintain his grandfatherly façade, “what a pleasant surprise and unexpected addition to the Wizengamot. Still, I cannot help but wonder what Harry is doing here. While the upcoming trial concerns you, Harry, more than anyone else, I sadly must remind you that no minor is, by law, allowed to attend a meeting of the Wizengamot without his magical guardian. I am sorry, my boy.”

Internally, Harry snorted. Even if Severus had not become his magical guardian, his previous magical guardian was present. After all, it was Dumbledore himself.

“Headmaster, thank you for your concern,” Harry said, trying to keep his voice light, “but my guardian is already present as Professor Snape is with me.”

Around Courtroom Ten, witches and wizards were heard gasping for air, while Dumbledore’s eyes behind his half-moon glasses grew even wider. It seemed like the Headmaster had truly never considered the possibility that the Saviour of the Wizarding world would ever escape his legal clutches.

“When?” the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot whispered, “and… how?”

“Following the revelation of Peter Pettigrew, both Harry and I received invitations from Gringotts to check our legal status as a number of documents had been discovered,” the Potions Master explained, sounding rather smug despite his impressive mask of indifference, “Harry asked me to accompany him to the Goblin bank, since at that time he did not have a magical guardian. As his Head of House, I agreed. Rather surprisingly, we discovered that Lily Potter named me his honorary godfather shortly before her death.”

“Since I know and trust Severus, as he has taken care of me ever since we met, and my mother obviously trusted him,” Harry continued to explain, a sad smile appearing on his face, “I asked him to assume the position of my magical guardian. I am so happy that I finally have somebody who cares for me like a parent.”

Once he had finished, the sound of cameras followed by their flashing lights filled Courtroom Ten. Much to Harry’s amusement, the press appeared to be eating out of his hands, thus leaving the Headmaster no choice but to congratulate him on his new magical guardian. Without further ado, Severus was sworn into the Wizengamot. As he was the Lord of an Ancient and Noble house, it was only a formality as opposed to the tedious process the elected members of the Wizengamot, who were no descendants of the ancient lines, had to go through.

Ten minutes later, Severus and Harry finally took their seats amongst the remaining members of the Wizengamot’s Dark faction. Since the Prince family, next to the Black, Lestrange, and Nott family, was one of the oldest purely Dark lines of the British Isles, it was only natural that their seats were located at the very centre of the Dark faction. Once they had taken their seats, Dumbledore finally opened the first of the Wizengamot’s summer sessions, declaring that today’s session was solely reserved for the trial of Sirius Black, who because of his frail health would not be present.

Once he had finished, he turned the floor over to Amelia Bones. The Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement rose from her seat, “Lords and Ladies, today we are gathered here to finally shed light on what truly happened following the attack of the Potters on the night of Samhain, 1981. As most of you are aware, I, as the Head of the Department for Magical Law Enforcement, and Head Auror Rufus Scrimgeour were called to Hogwarts a little over two weeks ago to investigate something most peculiar. According to the Patronus message sent by Bridget Hawthorne, the History of Magic teacher, Peter Pettigrew had been discovered at Hogwarts posing as the pet rat of a student. Upon our arrival, we immediately discovered that Peter Pettigrew indeed was alive and well and not dead as we all had previously believed. Still, since neither Rufus nor I were present from the beginning, I call forth our first witness. Miss Hawthorne, would you please explain what happened before our arrival.”

As if on command, Auror Shacklebolt escorted the pale witch to the chair at the centre of the courtroom. In all honesty, Harry was surprised to see the witch, especially since she was usually hard to overlook because of her exceptional exterior. Either the corner she had emerged from was just very badly lighted, or she had used magical means to conceal her presence. Given the animosity between herself and the Headmaster, the latter seemed more than likely. Still, given her active involvement in the handling of the discovery of Peter Pettigrew, it was only logical for Amelia Bones to call upon her no matter how much Albus Dumbledore despised the historian.

“Lady Hawthorne,” Madam Bones began once the pale witch had taken her seat, the chains used to secure suspected criminals thankfully remaining inactive, “as you are speaking in front of the Wizengamot, I must inform you that you are required by law to tell the truth. While it is not required for you to swear a vo-“

“Madam Bones,” Bridget Hawthorne spoke up, her pale eyes on the Headmaster, almost challenging her adversary, “I, Bridget Hawthorne, hereby swear upon my magic to tell the truth and nothing but the truth concerning the events surrounding the discovery of Peter Pettigrew. So mote it be.”

A bright light flashed through the courtroom as the Magical Vow was officiated.

“Thank you for your cooperation, Miss Hawthorne,” Amelia Bones said, a faint smile appearing on her usually stern face, “please explain what happened before Head Auror Scrimgeour and I arrived at the Great Hall.”

“Of course, Madam Bones,” the History of Magic teacher replied, “as far as I could tell, dinner was a rather ordinary affair, at least until the Weasley twins, Fred and George, decided to celebrate the end of exams, as the last had taken place only hours prior. Without warning, they jumped off their seats and started releasing magical fireworks while also firing off sparks and other spells. From my position at the staff table, I obviously was unable to identify each spell, especially given the state of chaos the hall had turned into by then, but I am fairly certain that none of the spells were more than simple pranking spells. Nevertheless, something must have hit the pet rat of their younger brother Ronald as the rat suddenly began to grow, turning into a fully grown man. I and most of my colleagues immediately identified the man as Peter Pettigrew. While I had never met him personally, I think his short stature, and his outward appearance which had been frequently depicted in the papers after his _death_ spoke for themselves. Severus Snape and I immediately apprehended Pettigrew with magical means, as he was obviously trying to flee. Once we had separated the students from Pettigrew, I immediately informed the Ministry.”

“Miss Hawthorne, a quick question,” a short squat woman spoke up once the pale witch had finished. With her broad, flabby face, a wide, slack mouth, little neck, and revolting bulging and pouchy eyes, the witch looked like a large, pale toad. Suppressing the urge to gag, Harry quickly averted his eyes from the toad-like witch back to his History of Magic professor.

“Of course, Miss Umbridge,” the pale witch replied with a smile that did not reach her eyes.

“I cannot help but wonder,” the toad-like woman continued, her words contrary to her appearance delivered in a simpering high-pitched voice that was girlish and breathless, “why did you as a new teacher inform the Ministry and not somebody with the proper authorisation to directly contact Ministry workers of the calibre of Madam Bones and Head Auror Scrimgeour.”

“Dolores,” Amelia Bones began, her words lacking any warmth, “I think this question is hardly necessary.”

“Amelia,” the toad-like woman replied in her sugary voice, “I am afraid that I insist. After all, this is a clear breach of protocol.”

“Miss Umbridge, I am more than aware that it should have been the Headmaster or the Deputy Headmistress to contact the Ministry,” Bridget Hawthorne began to explain, no uncertainty tainting her words, “unfortunately, the Headmaster was not present during dinner as he had left Hogwarts earlier that day. Therefore, I am afraid he was unavailable. Secondly, Deputy Headmistress McGonagall was clearly overwhelmed by the discovery of her former student. Unlike Severus Snape and I, her reaction to the discovery left much to be desired. Severus Snape, Filius Flitwick and I tried to talk to her numerous times, but it became apparent rather quickly that she was in a state of shock. Therefore, I took matters into my own hands and contacted the Ministry via a Patronus message. The choice of Madam Bones and Head Auror Scrimgeour simply happened in the heat of the moment. Should my explanation be insufficient, I gladly offer you to view my memory.”

Although Dolores Umbridge appeared to be clearly eager to demand just that, Amelia Bones was quicker, “That should hardly be necessary. Now that we know what happened before Rufus and I arrived at the Great Hall, it is now time to clarify what happened afterwards. Therefore, I invite all of you to view my memory.”

With a flick of her wand, a Pensieve was Levitated in the centre of the room where a small table had been Conjured moments prior. Once the Pensieve had landed on the table, Amelia Bones used her wand to extract a memory from her mind, immediately placing the cloudy, silvery substance in the shallow stone basin. With another flick of her wand, the lights in the room darkened. Once all noises within Courtroom Ten had died down, the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement uttered a series of difficult incantations causing the Pensieve to glow before the memory within expanded right above the stone basin for everyone to see and hear.

Since he had been present during the interrogation, Harry saw little to no point to waste his time with Pettigrew’s interrogation. Instead, he spent the next minutes observing the members of the Wizengamot, the Ministry workers present, and the press as they watched the rat-like man confessing his crimes. Surprisingly, the reactions of the different factions present did not differ much. In fact, most had forgone their masks and were openly sneering at the traitor, the Light faction because he had betrayed James and Lily Potter to the Dark Lord, and the Dark faction because of his cowardly motives and the fact that an innocent Lord of an Ancient and Most Noble Pureblood line, although they were unaware that Sirius had been disinherited, had spent a decade in Azkaban because of Pettigrew’s schemes.

Once the memory had finished, the courtroom erupted in a sea of upset voices. The fate of Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew appeared to be sealed.

Before the ruckus could grow any louder, Amelia Bones’ magically amplified voice echoed through Courtroom Ten, “Lords and Ladies, while I can understand why you are upset, this is hardly the place for such reactions. Due to the injustice some of the involved had to endure, I want to make sure that each of the involved will be given the chance to disclose their version of what happened. Since Sirius Black sadly has sadly not been given the medical clearing to attend this trial due to his frail health following his long-term exposure to Dementors, the following interrogation was conducted yesterday afternoon at St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries.”

Upon this declaration, the face of Albus Dumbledore turned pale. Obviously, the old coot had not considered that someone would make the effort of questioning Sirius Black. Neither Harry nor Tom were aware of what Dumbledore had done to Sirius Black to force him to go after Pettigrew and whether he had erased his fingerprints. Before Harry could think more about the possible scenarios of the interrogation of his godfather, Madam Bones continued.

Again, a memory was placed in the Pensieve and before long, a sparsely furnished hospital room came into view. Ignoring the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement pulling a chair closer to the single bed within the room, Harry’s eyes immediately landed on Sirius Black. Although most of his body was hidden underneath a thick white blanket, Harry could not help but remark how thin and frail the last of the Black family looked. With his gaunt, sunken face, waxy skin, yellow teeth, and long, matted hair he resembled a corpse more than a living being. The only signs of life were his eyes. Apart from his prematurely aged exterior, they were sparkling with life, a sign, that the Dementors had not managed to fully break him.

His godfather was not alone. A pale, tired looking wizard wearing an extremely shabby set of wizard's robes was sitting on the other side of his bed as he watched the approaching Ministry official with weary eyes.

“Mister Lupin, I am not here to harm your friend,” Amelia Bones broke the silence following her unanswered greeting, “rather the opposite. From a juridical point of view, the innocence of Sirius Black here is just a formality as the true perpetrator already disclosed his guilt while under the influence of Veritaserum. Still, I think that you, Sirius Black, deserve the chance to explain everything from your perspective.”

For a moment, his godfather looked truly stunned, before he whispered, “Why?”

“In the past, you were denied a fair process,” Amelia Bones answered, her words sincere, “we have failed you. I want you to know that we will try our best so that what happened to you will never happen again. I think we should start now, should we not?”

“Yes,” Sirius answered after a while, before adding, “I am glad that you care.”

A faint smile appeared on Amelia Bones’ usually stern face, “I always do. Now, while we all know that it would be the best if you were to either swear a magical vow or take Veritaserum, I can understand whe-“

“Give me the Veritaserum,” the last of the Blacks interrupted her, “I want to clear this once and for all.”

“Sirius, you do not have to do this,” Remus Lupin said, while reaching for his friend’s hand, “after Peter’s confession, everybody knows that you are innocent.”

“But I want to,” Black said, a stubborn glint in his eyes, “I want the entire Wizarding world to know what really happened.”

Much to Harry’s satisfaction, opposite of him in the darkness of Courtroom Ten, Albus Dumbledore grew even paler.

Once the Veritaserum had been administered, the eyes of her opposite had glazed over, and a Dictating Quill had been placed on a long piece of parchment, Amelia Bones began her interrogation, “For the records, please state your full name.”

After a moment of silence, his godfather answered, “Sirius Orion Black.”

“Thank you,” the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement said immediately, “were you, Sirius Black, the Secret Keeper of James and Lily Potter?”

“No, I was not,” his godfather replied immediately, “while I was their first choice, James and Lily decided against using me. As they explained it to me, using me would have been too obvious. Therefore, they settled for Peter while using me as a decoy.”

“What happened on the night of Samhain, 1981,” Amelia Bones continued, trying her best to remain calm.

“I… I cannot explain it, but I somehow had a bad feeling and decided to check up on Peter,” Sirius Black explained in a monotonous voice, “when I arrived at the safe house he had been hiding, the windows were dark. Inside, everything was blasted to smithers, like an attack, although the Dark Mark was missing. I immediately rushed to Godric’s Hollow where James and Lily were hiding in a small cottage. Upon my arrival, I discovered the corpse of James partly covered under debris. It looked like he had tried to stop Voldemort. Like many, he had failed. I entered the cottage to look for Lily and my godson, but parts of the roof had collapsed, making it hard to enter. Eventually, I found Lily’s dead body in the nursery while young Harry was clutching the bars of his cot, miraculously alive. I lifted my godson out of his cot and then, I cannot remember.”

“You cannot remember?” Amelia Bones repeated, one eyebrow raised in question, “would you mind clarifying your last point.”

“One minute, I was holding Harry in my arms,” Sirius Black began, looking slightly helpless and confused despite the Veritaserum, “the next I am following Peter. I simply cannot remember what happened in between. I think it is because of the Dementors. Some memories are just gone. Like they were sucked out of me.”

For a moment, the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement remained silent, her narrowed eyes fixated on the last of the Blacks, “This is most peculiar indeed.”

“But not unheard of,” Remus Lupin added, “given the powers of the Dementors.”

A few seconds later, Amelia Bones nodded her head, “Mister Black, please continue. What do you remember once you headed after Peter Pettigrew?”

“I tracked him down in a Muggle neighbourhood. I do not know the name of the place. Never knew,” Sirius Black continued, “before I could do anything, he screamed, so that everyone could hear that I had betrayed James and Lily and was now after Peter’s life. Before I knew what was happening, he had fired off some sort of Blasting Curse, cut off his own finger and transformed into his Animagus form, a rat, disappearing from sight. I was so perplexed that he, who had never been the smartest, had outsmarted me. Due to the irony of the situation and the grief because of my best friend’s death, I could not help but laugh. Then, the Aurors arrived.”

“What did they do?” Amelia Bones asked.

“They snapped my wand on sight and magically bound and silenced me before questioning some of the surviving Muggles,” the last of the Blacks explained, “I was apparated straight into the Ministry where a committee led by Bartemius Crouch Senior decided that for _my crimes_ , I should be immediately taken to Azkaban where I was to stay for life.”

“I think this is enough, Mister Black,” Amelia Bones concluded, “thank you for your cooperation.”

With that, the memory ended, clouding Courtroom Ten in uncomfortable silence.

“The old manipulator must have used several highly-powered Compulsion and Memory Charms,” a voice in his mind suddenly said, “while Dementors can ‘destroy’ memories over time, they never vanish completely unless the person in question is Kissed.”

A feeling of warmth flooded Harry’s body upon hearing the voice of the Dark Lord.

“Somebody is coming,” Tom’s hushed voice filled his mind once more, “I have to go.”

Before Harry could do anything, Madam Bones’ voice boomed through the courtroom, “Now that we have viewed all evidence. I think it is time to vote. Given the clarity of the confessions, I think there is hardly any need to wait. Do you agree, Albus?”

“Please, go on,” the Headmaster said in his grandfatherly voice, trying very hard to hide the relief that Sirius Black was not able to recall the meeting between the two of them that had forced Black to go after Pettigrew.

“Who of those present thinks that Sirius Black is guilty?” Amelia Bones asked.

None of the members of Wizengamot present moved, clearly awaiting the next question of the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

“Who of those present thinks that Sirius Black is innocent?” the stern witch continued.

Without hesitation, all wands of those eligible to vote were lifted in the air.

The corners of Harry’s lips curled upwards. This was exactly what he and Tom had planned for. They were one step closer to achieving what they had planned for.

The remainder of the Wizengamot session consisted of deciding the reparations the supposed Lord of the Black family would be receiving for his unjust incarceration. In the end, it was decided that he would receive fifty Galleons for each day he had spent at Azkaban while the medical bills for his recovery would be covered by the Ministry as well. Once the decision had been delivered, Dumbledore closed today’s session of the Wizengamot.

Since neither Severus nor Harry were overly keen to interact with any members of the Wizengamot, or worse, the press, they were amongst the first to leave Courtroom Ten. Sadly, their exit was not fast enough.

“Harry, my boy,” a grandfatherly voice called after him, “a word if you please.”

Realising that there was no way to avoid the old manipulator, Harry simply nodded his head, signalling Dumbledore to go ahead. Having already anticipated that the conversation would most likely not take place in a public setting, Harry was not surprised as Dumbledore unlocked the door of one of the smaller courtrooms with a flick of his wand.

Once the door had been closed behind Severus, the last to enter the room, a grandfatherly smile appeared on Dumbledore’s face accompanied by his trademark twinkle, “Harry, my boy, I am glad that you have found a magical guardian in Severus here. For all I can tell, he is a good man. Still, I cannot help but wonder how this change came about. I hope you forgive an old man’s curiosity.”

“Of course, sir,” Harry replied, while forcing a bright and naïve smile on his face as he tried to prepare himself for the lie he was about to tell, “as far as the Goblins told me, they discovered a few documents on the search for evidence related to the trial of Sirius Black. Said documents hinted at his status as my godfather. At that time, I was without a magical guardian and for reasons unknown to me, the Goblins thought it was a good idea to change that. For that, they wanted to compare the documents found within Sirius’ vault with those of my parents. Unfortunately, those documents could only be accessed with me there. Since I knew that I could not travel to the Gringotts alone, I asked Seve… Professor Snape for assistance. He thankfully agreed to help me. Much to our surprise, we discovered that my parents did not only name Sirius my godfather, but Severus as well. Professor, I still cannot believe that I discovered that I have two godfathers on the same day.”

“Harry, I am very happy for you,” the Headmaster said with a smile that was as fake as one could be, not entirely covering the underlying relief of not being discovered as Harry’s previous magical guardian, “still, I cannot help but wonder about your choice of magical guardian.”

Forcing an expression of surprise on his face, Harry stared at Dumbledore with big eyes, “Sir, I am afraid I cannot follow you.”

“Harry,” Dumbledore said, the most fake expression of concern on display on his face, “I just want what is best for you. While I do not want to imply anything, I simply wonder if Seve-“

“Why would I choose anybody else?” Harry exclaimed, thus interrupting Dumbledore’s beginning monologue, “ever since I have known him, he has cared for me. He listens to me, encourages me, gives me extra lessons, and so far, has tried to help me in every way possible. My parents must have known that, too. Why would they have named him my godfather if they distrusted him?”

“My boy, I did not mean to question Severus here,” the old coot tried to save himself, “I am just curious why you did not select Sirius Black.”

“Black?” Harry asked, one eyebrow raised, “I have never met him. How can I trust someone when I have never interacted with them? Also, I thought it would be unwise to burden a recently released inmate of Azkaban with the task of caring for a minor. The memory Amelia Bones showed to us only facilitated my decision. Sirius Black needs time to recover, time I did not want to deny him by forcing him to leave St. Mungo’s to take care of me. Sure, I want to get to know him, but for now, I think it is better to stay with Severus.”

The shocked look on Dumbledore’s face simply was priceless, “My boy, are you meaning to say that you are not staying with your relatives anymore?”

“Albus,” Severus said, stepping forwards, placing a protective hand on the shoulder of his ward, “you cannot be serious. You know Petunia as much as I do. Ever since she received the rejection that she was not allowed to attend Hogwarts, she started to hate, not only despise, but hate everything remotely magical, especially her sister. After everything Harry told me, there is no doubt that this hate also extends to her own nephew. I have no idea how Harry ended up in Petunia’s care or how he was allowed to live there for so long, but it cannot continue. He will not return there, especially now that he has a magical guardian. Harry stays with me.”

“But the Blood Wards,” the old manipulator tried to argue, “he needs all the protec-“

“Of what use are Blood Wards if they do not protect Harry from his own relatives,” the Potions Master sneered, “with me he is safe. I have not survived for so long because I am a fool. I know how to protect him, and I certainly will.”

Knowing that he had lost, Dumbledore instead asked the Potions Master about his recently obtained Lordship. Amused by Severus’ unforthcoming answers, Harry watched as Dumbledore’s frustration grew with every less than informative answer as the Potions Master made it clear that this was a private matter. Thankfully, the conversation soon ended, and the pair finally returned home, leaving behind a puzzled yet thankfully not overtly suspicious Dumbledore. Thankfully, it seemed like the old wizard had remained ignorant to the true nature of the change of magical guardianship. After all, it would be rather counterproductive if he started to question Harry’s allegiance too soon.

The Daily Prophet the next day was glorious, painting the trial of Sirius Black in the brightest colours from the front page to page seven, declaring the supposed Lord of the Black family as an innocent and unrightfully convicted scapegoat of the last war. Because of all the buzz the trial had created, Harry’s first public appearance, his change of magical guardianship, and the fact that Severus had announced his status as Lord Prince all disappeared in the background, mentioned only in smaller articles hidden between the many advertisements for the newest Nimbus racing broom, magical cleaning products, and the announcement of the latest album of Celestina Warbeck. Overall, the outcome of the trial could not have been better.

On Wednesday morning, Severus Apparated them straight into the Ministry, passing a stunned Broadmoor at the security point for Wand Registration without sparing his former student a second glance.

As they entered Courtroom Ten, the atmosphere was quite different than two days before. Unlike the curious, almost hopeful expression most had worn during the trial of Sirius Black, most faces were grim as they waited for the prosecution of the true betrayer of James and Lily Potter. Taking their seats, Harry and Severus did not have to wait for long as Dumbledore opened the session of the Wizengamot only minutes later. The Chief Warlock looked tense, the furrows on his face appearing deeper than Harry had ever seen them. Still, the tension was hardly surprising. If asked the _wrong_ question, Pettigrew could cause a lot of damage to the old man.

“Lords and Ladies,” Dumbledore began, “today we are gathered here for the trial of Peter Aiden Pettigrew. Aurors, the defendant, please.”

As if on command, a small door opposite the main entrance of Courtroom Ten opened, revealing Auror Shacklebolt and his trainee flanking the heavily chained traitorous Secret Keeper of the Potters. Pettigrew was quickly escorted to the centre of the room, where most of his bindings were removed before he was told to sit on the chair. Once his arms had been placed on the armrest, the magic of the chair immediately activated, binding a sniffling and whimpering Pettigrew down.

Unlike last time, Dumbledore did not turn over the floor to Amelia Bones. Instead, it seemed like the Chief Warlord would lead the trial himself. It was a clever move indeed since it would allow him to circumvent certain questions which could potentially damage the old man himself.

“Peter Aiden Pettigrew,” Dumbledore started, his eyes having lost their trademark twinkle, “today you are standing in front of the Wizengamot to answer for your involvement in the murders of James and Lily Potter at the hands of the Dark Lord Voldemort. As their friend and Secret Keeper, it was your responsibility to protect their whereabouts at all costs. Since you have already confessed your guilt for betraying them under the influence of Veritaserum, let us now view the memory of your confession before deciding about your fate. Amelia, your memory, please.”

Harry could have laughed out loud at the obvious plan of the old man. Instead of trying to circumvent any _tricky_ questions by leading the interrogation himself, Dumbledore was trying to forgo a second interrogation altogether. Since the guilt of Pettigrew had already been proven, most would not bother to dig any deeper.

Once they had finished viewing Pettigrew’s interrogation at the hands of Amelia Bones and Rufus Scrimgeour, and the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement had taken her seat, Dumbledore rose to his feet again, “Peter Pettigrew, as verified by your confession you did indeed reveal the whereabouts of James and Lily Potter to the Dark Lord Voldemort before framing Sirius Black with your doings and disappearing from sight to pose as the pet rat of the Weasleys. Do you have anything to say?”

In answer, Dumbledore only got more whimpers. Since none of the members of the Wizengamot appeared to be keen to demand more answers out of Pettigrew, the Chief Warlock put an end to the presentation of evidence, “Lords and Ladies, who of you think that Peter Pettigrew is guilty?”

All wands of those eligible to vote were lifted in the air, sealing the fate of the traitorous rat, and leading to the next part of the trial. While Pettigrew continued to whimper, the Lords and Ladies of the Wizengamot began discussing the rat’s penalty. Because of his long list and severity of crimes - betraying the sacred honour of being a Secret Keeper, revealing the whereabouts of the Potters to the Dark Lord Voldemort, being a member of an illegal organisation, framing an innocent man with murder, the killing of several Muggles, being an unregistered Animagus, and posing as the pet of a minor - a lot of members of the Wizengamot, Dumbledore included, called for the Dementor’s Kiss. Before the old coot could call for a vote, Harry lifted his wand, “Sir, might I add something? I know that I am not a member of the Wizengamot yet, but since his crimes affected me more than anyone else, I think it is my right to say something. May I?”

For a moment, the entire courtroom was silent, until Augusta Longbottom said, “He is right. We should grant him the right to speak.”

Around her, many nodded their heads. Realising that there was no other choice, Dumbledore quickly forced a smile on his face, “Of course, Harry.”

Rising from his seat, Harry straightened his back, “Thank you, Chief Warlock. As many of you already know, his betrayal took my parents from me, the chance for a normal childhood, and so much more you cannot possibly imagine. His crimes cannot and should not be excused. Still, I think that the Dementor’s Kiss is the wrong punishment. Inste-“

“Tha… thank you, Ha… Harry!” Pettigrew exclaimed, his words shrill, “you… you are just like James. He, too, would have shown mercy. Thank you.”

“Do not say his name in front of me, traitor,” Harry hissed, sneering at the rat, “it is not mercy that I am calling for. Granting you the Dementor’s Kiss would have been mercy since it would have ended your punishment the moment your soul would have left your body. It would have been too quickly. Instead, I think you should suffer at least as long as my godfather and I have suffered, preferably much longer while under the influence of the Dementors of Azkaban. Therefore, I urge you, Lords and Ladies of the Wizengamot, to reconsider your choice. Thank you for allowing me to speak.”

Courtroom Ten once again fell silent as Harry took his seat. Moments later, fiery discussions began to erupt all over the ranks. In the end, most of those eligible for voting lifted their wands in favour of life imprisonment, thus granting Harry his wishes, while only a handful of witches and wizards, Dumbledore included, voted for the Dementor’s Kiss.

Once Pettigrew had been removed, Dumbledore cleared his throat, “Now that we have finally discovered the truth and justice has been served, I think it is time to close tod-“

Stopping dead in his tracks, the eyes of the Chief Warlock were glued on the single raised wand in the courtroom, “Augusta, how can I help you.”

“I have an important announcement to make,” the Lady of the Longbottom estate spoke as she rose to her feet, her grandson by her side, “over the course of the last few days we have discovered that not everything seems as it appears. During the last war, witches and wizards were sent to Azkaban without receiving proper trials. We should know better than that. If not, what makes us better than them? Because of our ignorance, innocent people are suffering while the true perpetrators are allowed to roam unpunished. I am aware that the Department of Magical Law Enforcement is currently attempting to remedy their past actions as they are trying to determine if more people were treated just like Sirius Black. Due to my own investigations, I can say for certain that I am just as affected as Heir Potter. Just like him, the ones who have harmed my family never received a proper trial. I am old. I want to sleep peacefully once and for all, knowing who truly tortured my son and my daughter in law. Therefore, I officially request a trial for Rodolphus, Rabastan, and Bellatrix Lestrange to determine their true involvement in the torture of Frank and Alice Longbottom. So mote it be.”

Following her words, Courtroom Ten erupted into a sea of chaos.

Leaning back in his chair, Harry watched everything unfold. In the end, Dumbledore somehow managed to quiet everybody. After a heated discussion between Augusta herself, Corvus Lestrange, representatives from the Light, Neutral, and Dark faction of the Wizengamot, and several high-ranking Ministry officials, it was decided that the trial would take place in two weeks’ time. Before Dumbledore could finally close today’s Wizengamot session, the main entrance of Courtroom Ten was thrown open, revealing a breathless Ministry worker sprinting into the room, “Excuse my interruption. I am here to fetch Lord Prince as your presence is demanded at Gringotts. An underage wizard has been discovered in the Muggle world. According to the results of the Inheritance Ritual he underwent, he is a Prince.”

Opposite of Harry, Dumbledore’s jaw dropped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It might take a while 'til the next update since my master's thesis is eating up all of my time... Sorry for that...


	5. The Prince Heir

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, a Happy New Year to all of you!!! Let's hope that 2021 will be better than 2020.
> 
> Secondly, sorry for keeping you waiting... But I'm rather busy, although my thesis luckily is almost finished.
> 
> Thirdly, a big Thank You to my fantastic Betas!!!
> 
> Lastly, a bit of trigger warning (abuse) throughout the middle of the chapter

Once the world had finally stopped spinning, Tom gracefully stepped out of the fireplace, a grin plastered on his face.

“ _Welcome, my friend_ ,” the voice of one of his oldest echoed through the massive office with its marble-clad walls, “ _given your state, I conclude that the negotiations have been successful, have they not?”_

 _“As if I have to tell you, my old friend_ ,” Tom chuckled as he took the chair opposite Ragnok, answering in smooth Gobbledegook, _“you already know that Augusta agreed and that the Vassal Bond has been completed. I am more than aware that Gringotts gets informed immediately once something as significant as a Vassal Bond has been finalised.”_

 _“Of course you know,”_ Ragnok replied with a smirk that was all teeth, “ _I simply wanted to hear it from you personally. Anyway, before we move on to the main reason for our meeting, I must ask you how young Harry is faring now that you will be gone for the next few days. Does he understand?”_

 _“He surely does. Still, understanding the reason for our current situation does not make it easier,”_ Tom sighed, _“after all, he has never been alone before and even I have to admit that I have grown quite accustomed to our unique situation. Him not being here feels odd, like a major part of myself is missing.”_

 _“At least it will not last for long,”_ Ragnok replied while reaching out to grab Tom’s hand, squeezing it reassuringly, _“if everything goes to plan, you will be reunited on Wednesday. Only a few days from now. Trust me, we have planned everything to the smallest detail. The Goblins in France did assure me…”_

 _“Did they?”_ the Dark Lord asked, failing to hide the steely undertone in his voice, “ _I know that you have repeatedly reassured me that you trust the French. Still, I would have preferred if you had prepared the whole set-up and not them.”_

Opposite of him, Ragnok snorted, _“Even if I wanted to, it is their sovereign territory. While we are of the same race and conduct business with each other, the Goblins of this Gringotts branch operate in Britain alone. Sure, some of us can be transferred to another branch if necessary. Still, in general, we do not interfere with other branches’ business. We do not differ much from your kind in this regard, although we are more inclined to cooperate than most witches and wizards. Still, I trust the French and the reason will become quite apparent once our contact has arrived. Before that, I must ask you to swear a vow of secrecy. If overheard by the wrong set of ears, the information you are going to learn could endanger not only our contact for assisting us but also myself.”_

Intrigued by the words of his friends, Tom quickly agreed to the terms and swore on his magic to not reveal the identity of the contact to anyone but Harry. Once the vow had been completed, Tom’s curious eyes followed the movements of the Goblin as he began to twist the silver band of the otherwise midnight black ring gracing his right ring finger.

 _“And now, we wait,”_ Ragnok said once the silver band had been returned to its initial position while his eyes were glued on the fireplace. Instead of following Ragnok’s example, the Dark Lord’s eyes narrowed as he inspected the ring. Before now, the ring never had caught his attention. Apart from the silver band, the piece of jewellery was rather inconspicuous, safe for the exquisite quality of the material. It was void of Runes or any other form of engraving and previous to witnessing the Goblin twisting the silver band, he had never felt a spark of magic being emitted from the ring. Now that he was aware that this could not be an ordinary piece of jewellery, he focussed his magic on the object, sure that Ragnok would not mind his curiosity. At first, the results were rather disappointing since the ring did not appear to possess an ounce of magic. Only once he had finetuned his senses twice, he finally found what he was looking for. A single eyebrow shot upwards as the mystery of the ring slowly started to unravel. The ring itself was not a powerless piece of jewellery as he first had believed. Instead, quite a lot of magic was stored inside. The sole reason why Tom had not discovered this sooner was because the magic of the ring only marginally differed from Ragnok’s own magic. This was most curious since the Dark Lord was quite certain that the ring was not a Horcrux. What else could it be?

Before he could contemplate any further, he heard the crackling of the fireplace followed by a beam of green light illuminating the marble office, _“So, I take that this is your favourite client, Ragnok?”_

 _“It is,”_ Ragnok answered, _“has everything been prepared?”_

Following the direction of the newcomer’s words, the eyes of the Dark Lord stopped on an impressive figure. Her long hair was skilfully braided back stopping at the middle of her back. For a Goblin, she was unusually tall. As far as Tom guessed, she was only an inch or so smaller than Ragnok who himself made an impressive figure amongst the Goblins. Unlike most female Goblins he had seen, she was wearing a pair of sturdy dark Dragonhide pants tucked into knee-high Basilisk hide boots. The leather corsage and the loose dark shirt underneath certainly had not been selected to appease the eye. All items had been solely chosen with conflict and battle in mind. Practicality clearly was the sole motive, something which the Dark Lord did not mind at all. He was not much different after all.

 _“Of course everything has been prepared,”_ the female Goblin answered, the corners of her mouth curling into a sharp smile, which somehow reminded the Dark Lord of Ragnok. The similarity was almost uncanny. Before he could think more, the female Goblin had already stepped closer, inspecting the Dark Lord more closely. The bone wand in her hand did not go unnoticed. Neither did the poison-drenched dagger in her boot. Before long, the smile on her face only turned sharper if that was even possible.

 _“Are the two of you somehow related,”_ Tom could not help but wonder, one eyebrow shooting upwards as his eyes moved back and forth between the two Goblins.

Laughter filled the office. Either what he had said was the most hilarious thing, or he had hit the nail right on the head. Given the reaction of the two Goblins, it seemed like he had at least not insulted them.

Once the laughter had died down, Tom noticed that the wand of the female Goblin had mysteriously disappeared. Meanwhile, Ragnok wiped a tear off his cheek, _“How perceptive of you. Tom, let me introduce you to Ragnar, my twin sister. Sister, this is Tom Marvolo Riddle, one of the Dark Lords of the British Isles.”_

Despite being slightly baffled by the introduction, Tom did not forget his manners, taking her hand, _“Lady Ragnar, it is a pleasure to meet you. May your enemies quiver at your feet and your vaults never run dry.”_

The corners of Ragnar’s mouth twitched, _“Mister Riddle, may the Light never extinguish the Darkness inside you.”_

 _“Thank you, Lady Ragnar,”_ the Dark Lord replied, the words smoothly rolling off his silver tongue. Before he could continue, the female Goblin had already waved him off, _“Enough of the ‘Lady’ business. I certainly am not one. Ragnar is fine.”_

 _“Only if you call me Tom,”_ the Dark Lord smiled, _“I insist.”_

The corners of Ragnar’s mouth twitched, as she took the seat her brother had signalled her to take, _“Your Gobbledegook certainly is impressive, Tom. Almost like you had grown up amongst us. Even Bartemius Crouch Senior’s language skills pale in comparison to yours, no matter how good dear ol’ Barty thinks he is. I must say that I am impressed. Still, given my brother’s continuous praise of your skills, I am hardly surprised. After all, he rarely exaggerates.”_

 _“I never exaggerate,”_ Ragnok said, which was promptly replied by a snort of his sister, _“Of course.”_

 _“While I am certainly highly entertained by the both of you,_ ” Tom said after a few minutes of back and forth, _“I am afraid I have to ask. As far as I was aware, Ragnok, you told me that you only have one older brother who wandered off to hunt for treasures. You never told me that you have a sister.”_

 _“You seriously told him about Ragnos?”_ the female Goblin asked incredulously, _“about our nutter of a brother who believes that the Scandinavian Mountains are still full of gold although the Norwegian Goblins never found much to begin with? The brother who still hunts after the Nibelungen treasures despite it being nothing but a made-up tale of the Muggles? The broth-“_

 _“Yes, that brother,”_ Ragnok cut her short, _“enough of him. I never told you about my sister, because the knowledge of our kinship could seriously jeopardise our positions and safety. I told you before that the leading families of the different Gringotts branches rarely, if ever, get involved with the dealings of other branches. By mutual agreement, the leading families have never tried to control more than one branch ever since the days of the last Great Goblin War. Our kind suffered greatly due to the struggles amongst ourselves, making us vulnerable in the process. The wizarding population obviously took advantage of our situation, denying us some of our basic rights we still have not recovered, like voting on legislation as equals. To ensure that something as damaging would never happen again, the leading families decided to not interfere with others.”_

 _“Still,”_ the Dark Lord said, one eyebrow raised, _“I was under the impression that Tornuk III was the head of the French Gringotts branch and no-“_

 _“You are well-informed,”_ Ragnar chuckled _, “to answer your question, he indeed is the head of the French Gringotts branch, but he is also my husband. Do not get me wrong, we love each other. Still, if the true source of his ideas was ever to be discovered being so closely related to the head of another Gringotts branch, the outcome certainly would not be pleasant. Before you even ask why I would ris-“_

 _“There is no need for that,”_ Tom interrupted her, the corners of his mouth curling upwards, _“you desire power and freedom as much as I and your brother do. Playing second fiddle to your brother would surely not satisfy you. You are too ambitious for that. While others would surely scold you for taking such risks, I can understand you. I would have done the same.”_

Opposite of him, the smile of Ragnar turned all teeth, _“Yes, you would. I am sure of that. Anyway, if you ask me, the risk certainly paid off, do you not agree, dear brother?”_

The entire frame of Ragnok appeared to be shaking as a series of dark cackles escaped his lips _, “Oh, I agree, dear sister. Without you, Tornuk would certainly be lost and the entire Goblin nation would be without our most skilled Legilimens. Since we already mentioned your special skills, I think it is time for you to tell Tom what you and your team have been up to during the last few weeks.”_

 _“Well, we have been rather busy,”_ Ragnar said, a devious smile gracing her face, _“while your outline of Thomas Prince’s life was certainly impressive, I could not help but feel that it might not be enough. Therefore, we tracked down quite a lot of people, magical and non-magical, to implant memories of Thomas Prince and his family. If I had to guess, I would say between 520 and 530. Some of the-“_

 _“You and your team implanted false memories to over 500 people?”_ Tom asked incredulously, _“in less than a month? How is that possible, especially given that we cannot afford to be discovered should Albus Dumbledore decide to look more closely into my apparent past?”_

 _“Tom, you have no idea about the events we have covered up,”_ the female Goblin chuckled, “ _while this is one of our larger and more delicate operations, covering up the death of the Brazilian Minister of Magic certainly was worse. Anyway, we first tracked down a few of Nero Prince’s and Madeleine Lefebvre’s acquaintances from their time at Beauxbâtons and their short stay in Southend-on-Sea before they were murdered in a Death Eater raid. Those that we have found are now under the impression that your supposed parents had instead fled to France shortly after the birth of their son. Once they supposedly arrived in France, it gets a bit complicated. They moved around quite a bit, mostly sticking to the Muggle world, before settling down in Le Havre when you were six. Your father started working in an apothecary, while you were home-schooled by your mother. Visits to Magical Paris were kept to a minimum. On Thursday this week, a lorry crashed into a building just as they were passing by. They were killed in the following explosion, while you were discovered by French children’s services a day later. Given that no relatives were listed, you were taken to a local orphanage, where you are currently residing. Still, I think you should see for yourself and make sure that you approve of my work, right?”_

Three hours later, Tom, Ragnok, and Ragnar emerged from the Pensieve. Ragnok had been right, the work of his sister and her team was extraordinary. The quality of the implanted memories left nothing to be desired. While most practitioners of the Mind Arts were under the impression that a well-tailored false memory was characterised by its level of details, a lack of distortion, and the otherwise absence of any indications of tinkering, there was one vital factor missing.

Emotional depth.

If discovered by an ordinary Legilimens, or if viewed in a Pensieve, the lack of emotions was often overlooked. Still, there was a chance that the one whose memories had been modified would grow weary of their own memories due to the unexplainable lack of emotions. While the chances for that were relatively slim, a Master Legilimens would not be fooled easily. Should a Master Legilimens decide to directly invade a person’s mind, the modified memory, if discovered, would stand out because of the missing emotions connected to the memory.

Since he was a Master Legilimens himself, Tom only knew too well how difficult it was to attach emotions to a modified memory. It was a tricky and complicated endeavour not many were capable of. Much to his surprise and despite being viewed in a Pensieve, Tom had been able to sense the emotions connected to the forged memories, even if it was just a faint notion, like a cashier in the local grocery store being slightly annoyed that Nero Prince was taking so long to pay for his groceries. The crafted memories simply felt real, especially the dislike of one of Nero Prince’s colleagues, and the jealousy of the family’s landlord, who envied the Prince patriarch for his beautiful wife.

“ _I must congratulate you, Ragnar_ ,” the Dark Lord said in smooth Gobbledegook, smiling at the female Goblin once they had taken their seats, “ _as a Master Legilimens myself, I must say that I have rarely ever seen finer work than yours. I am impressed_.”

“ _Well, that is the reaction I had hoped for_ ,” Ragnar chuckled, “ _I only hope that you will manage to construct believable memories of your own supposed path should somebody try to invade your mind, especially since Albus Dumbledore will no doubt question your sudden appearance. He will not be fooled easily._ ”

“ _Most of my ‘supposed’ memories have already been crafted. I only need to incorporate the faces of those you have shown me and add details. Otherwise, most is completed. Given that I will have plenty of time over the course of the next few days, my forged past should be completed once I will get back to Britain,”_ Tom explained, before leaning forwards, _“still, before we depart for France, I would like you to describe the major developments of my supposed past, present, and future from the death of my ‘parents’ until my return to this very office. While I have seen the memories, I would like to get a bit more context concerning the sequence of events, at least if we have time.”_

 _“Luckily, we still have time for that,”_ Ragnar said, leaning back in her chair, _“this week on Thursday morning at seven minutes past eight, a larger Peugeot estate car raced through a red light at a busy intersection in the centre of Le Havre at high speed. The car then crashed into a lorry, and the two skidding vehicles were pushed off the road into a crowd of seven waiting people, amongst them your parents, who were about to cross the busy junction. Since the car directly crashed into the tank of the lorry, both vehicles immediately started to burn. By the time the firemen arrived at the crash site, there was not much left of the vehicles, their drivers, and the seven crash victims. Since your father did not appear at work, the French police could identify your parents relatively quickly. They found you early in the evening. Since no relatives, or other potential legal guardians could be identified, you were taken to the local catholic orphanage the next day. There, the matron, and the local priest tried to talk to you several times over the next few days, but you would remain silent, clearly in shock. There is not much that you must keep in mind regarding the schedule since we will take care of most things once you are in position. The only thing you have to do is to make sure that you will be discovered by the French Ministry of Magic late Monday afternoon. From there on, everything should go according to plan. Is everything acceptable so far?”_

Tom merely nodded his head in confirmation,

 _“Good,_ ” Ragnar continued, _“we tried to keep your time in the Muggle world at a minimum, but I am afraid that this is the shortest solution we could come up with to solidify the memories of the matron, and the Father Jacques. I hope you understa-“_

 _“I have survived my entire childhood in an orphanage. I will most certainly survive another day there,”_ the Dark Lord said, determination lacing his every word, as he pushed himself off his seat, _“I am rea-“_

The hand of Ragnok on his forearm stopped his movements, _“Not quite yet, my friend. Your eyes.”_

Internally, Tom wanted to curse himself. He rarely forgot something, least of all something as important as this. Cursing under his breath in something similar to the Cockney he had grown up speaking, the Dark Lord lifted his right hand to his eyes. After a fast series of hisses, he felt the Parselmagic taking hold.

 _“While I must say that the onyx colour suits you to some extent,_ ” Ragnok chuckled, as he stared straight into the eyes of his friend, _“I prefer the crimson.”_

 _“I agree,”_ his sister spoke before reaching for her wand. Tom watched as one of the quills on the table was turned into a Portkey, which was then swiftly offered to him, _“Ready?”_

 _“Take care, my friend,”_ Ragnok said, concern clearly present in his eyes. The Dark Lord merely nodded his head, reaching for the Portkey. Fractions of a second later, Ragnok’s office disappeared in a whirlwind of colours.

The interior of his room at the Orphelinat Sainte Marie, the Orphanage of the Holy Mary, was only marginally better than the one at Wool’s Orphanage. Surely, the furniture was newer and the painting on the wall was only slightly flaking, but the room itself was just as unwelcoming as the home of his childhood, if one could even call that hellhole ‘home’.

The obvious difference were the two menacing looking Goblins guarding the shabby door. While neither of them was as tall as Ragnar by his side, they made an impressive sight with their broad shoulders, nonetheless. Both were clad in the same sort of sturdy attire their leader seemed to prefer, minus the corsage of course. A Dragon’s fang was dangling from an earring of the larger of the two of them, while the smaller Goblin was grinning toothily, thus showing off a rather impressive set of sharp fangs.

 _“About time that you arrive, Ragnar,”_ the smaller of the two spoke, _“that annoying woman tried to enter this room thrice already.”_

 _“I am here now,”_ the female Goblin replied. She was about to turn to the Dark Lord, when the taller Goblin cleared his throat, _“And your husband contacted us. He said it was urgent.”_

 _“What does Tornuk want now?”_ Ragnar sighed, while rolling her eyes, _“please tell me it is not because of the new gold scales again?”_

Both Goblins nodded their heads in confirmation.

 _“How many times do I have to tell him to not touch those things?”_ Ragnar muttered under her breath before turning to the Dark Lord, _“I am afraid that I have to go. My ‘dear’ husband simply does not understand that he should not fiddle with any sort of technology. Modrek and Zordrak will inform you of ‘your’ time spent in this charming establishment. Tom, I wish you the best of luck. May your plans unfold in your favour, while never forgetting that Magic herself is by your side.”_

Hours later, Tom was finally alone. While Modrek and Zordrak had left fairly quickly once they had informed him of all the comings and goings of the last two days he had supposedly spent in the orphanage, the matron had not given up easily. While at first glance, Madame Petit appeared to care more about ‘her’ orphans than the ever-suspicious Mrs. Cole, Tom could feel that her seemingly caring demeanour was rooted neither in compassion nor altruism. Even without scanning her surface thoughts, it became apparent that the matron was only interested in extracting any sort of information that might be helpful to get rid of her newest ward. Her attempts at comforting a boy who had seemingly just lost both of his parents eventually turned into nothing more than interrogations to obtain the names of his relatives or other possible guardians who could take care of Thomas Prince instead of herself. After the second failed attempt, Madame Petit thankfully left with the words that Father Jacques would visit him tomorrow.

Left alone in the semi-darkness of his room, the expression of absolute misery and grief on the face of the Dark Lord gave way to an ugly sneer. While his childhood certainly had been anything but pleasant, most of it had been tolerable. He had survived after all. Still, the interactions with the Catholic Church had crossed his lines a few times too much, and that was still a _generous_ way of expressing his encounters with the local Catholic priests. He would gladly prefer to forget the numerous exorcisms and those shameful moments. Thankfully, Modrek and Zordrak had already informed him about Father Jacques’ special kind of desire. The knowledge did nothing to reduce the dread he was feeling inside, but at least he was prepared.

Sparing one last glance at the poor excuse of food on the tray Madame Petit had left on the battered table by the dirty, streaked window, Tom was more than glad for the rich meal Ragnok had insisted on after they had viewed half of the memories. Leaving the tray as it was, the Dark Lord let himself fall on the ratty cot, forgoing his usual graceful movements. A wave of his hand later, he was surrounded by soothing darkness. Since Thomas Prince, unlike all first years attending the major Wizarding schools, had been tutored by his mother, he was free of the Trace and could thus perform magic as he pleased, although there were a few limitations.

Closing his eyes, the Dark Lord tried his best to ignore his dismal surroundings, the even worse prospects concerning the following day, and worst of all, the absence of his Equal. Taking a deep breath, Tom submerged himself deeper in his mind. After all, he had memories to construct.

Hours later, at least it must be since he had lost track of time, Tom felt like he had made good progress. While most of _Thomas Prince’s_ memories had already been constructed, certain elements, like the appearance of his supposed parents, and most emotions had been missing; the former because he had not known yet how his supposed parents would look like since he had left that to the Goblins, and the latter because emotional depth was best to be added once a memory had been fully constructed.

After hours of work, Tom felt exhausted. Before he could allow himself to drift off into the awaiting arms of Morpheus, there was still something important to be done.

Minutes later, a silent tear rolled down the Dark Lord’s cheek as wished his Equal a good night, feeling happy and sad at the same time.

The next morning, the sun still had not risen outside, Tom was violently ripped out of his dreams by the loud banging on his door accompanied by the shrieking of Madame Petit, “ _Wake up! Wake up! Breakfast is in twenty minutes! Wake up_!”

Her shrieks soon moved further down the corridor while Tom let himself fall back into his meagre excuse of a cushion, mentally preparing himself for the day ahead of him.

“ _I do not care about whatever excuse you have to behave as you do_ ,” Madame Petit shouted in fast French fifteen minutes later as she stormed into his room, “ _this is not a hotel with a room service for children who think themselves special just because they have lost their parents. There are plenty of you out there. You will either take your meal downstairs in the dining hall, or your will starve. Be warned.”_

Growing frustrated with Tom's unresponsiveness as well as his refusal to move, the matron quickly crossed the room. Fractions of a second later, Tom felt her sharp nails scratching over his scalp as her fingers closed around a tuft of his hair. Surprised by the viciousness of her move, the Dark Lord gasped in pain as he was yanked off his bed.

“ _Stop crying!”_ the matron yelled, a furious glitter in her eyes as she stared at her newest ward, an expression of disgust on her face as she yanked the hand that was grabbing his hair upwards, forcing Tom to straighten his back, “ _you have had enough time to mourn. Come!”_

Streams of tears were running down his face as he was forced to follow the matron down the stairs, her movements unrelentless. He was then roughly shoved into the already full dining hall.

Immediately, he felt a myriad of eyes on his hunched, trembling form. Feeling like a small fish in a shark tank, Tom shyly inspected his surroundings before stumbling towards the end of the line. A few minutes later, a sparsely filled tray was shoved into his shaking hands. On his way to a deserted table in a dark corner of the large room, he almost tripped twice due to several extended legs. Once Thomas Prince had taken his seat, half of his meagre meal already split, loud and uncontrollable sobs began escaping his throat, while streams of tears continued flowing down his face.

 _“Did you see him almost fall?”_ an older boy with broad shoulders and a flat nose, which without doubt had been broken at some point, laughed, “ _what a big cry baby.”_

 _“Missing your mummy and daddy?”_ a small boy yelled gleefully, clearly enjoying that he was not on the receiving end for once _, “look at your eyes! All swollen up and red.”_

Soon, others continued to join the choir.

Under normal circumstances, the Dark Lord would have never shown this kind of emotions in front of a room full of people, especially not orphans. After all, showing any sort of weakness only made you a target. Far too early he had learned that crying did not solve any problems. Crying only made your problems worse as others would take advantage of one’s weaknesses, turning you into the punching bag of the orphanage.

Still, this was the exact thing he wanted. While Dumbledore was more than well aware of his acting skills, acting weak in front of Muggles would be too much of a stretch for the old fool.

Burying his face in his hands, Tom continued to sob quietly. Thankfully, breakfast was soon over. As he looked up, his previously untouched tray was empty, all the food taken. During his time at Wool’s Orphanage, this would have been one of the worst things that could have happened to you and a clear sign of weakness. If you could not even defend your own meagre portion of food, you had reached the absolute bottom of the food chain. After somehow managing to return the tray, he quickly headed upstairs again, hiding in his room. When it was time for lunch, nobody called for him. His door remained closed. Once lunch had been finished, Madam Petit stormed into his room without knocking, curtly informing him that she did not care if he starved and that Father Jacques would arrive later this afternoon.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Tom stared at the door the matron had closed on her way out. He really did not want to do this. Still, he knew that it was necessary. Sinking back into the meagre excuse of a cushion, he closed his eyes. 

Originally, he had planned on continuing with the forging of his false memories. Well, he had done just that for an hour or two until something else had caught his attention. When he had been about to add emotional depths to the memory of his _mother_ teaching him how to ride a bicycle, the weakened link flared up. While he somehow knew that Harry was not in danger given the rather euphoric state of his emotions, Tom still felt the need to check on his equal. Also, there was no way that he could resist the temptation. He was simply too curious for that, especially since his current surroundings were rather lacklustre.

What he saw surely surprised him. Instead of simply declaring Sirius Black innocent on the basis of Peter Pettigrew’s confession under Veritaserum, as most Ministry officials surely would have done, Amelia Bones appeared to be determined to grant each of the involved the chance to tell their take on the night of Samhain 1981. While he had never made the mistake to underestimate the skills, power, and the sense of justice of the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, he must admit that the respect for the righteous witch had just increased exponentially, especially the longer the interrogation of Sirius Black went on.

Sensing the confusion of his equal concerning the missing memory of Sirius Black, Tom simply could not hold his tongue, “The old manipulator must have used several highly-powered Compulsion and Memory Charms. While Dementors can ‘destroy’ memories over time, they never vanish completely unless the person in question is Kissed.”

The intoxicating feeling of warmth leaking over the link made the Dark Lord feel all fuzzy and warm inside. Sadly, his short moment of comfort was cut short as he heard heavy steps in front of his door.

“Somebody is coming,” he managed to utter, before quickly adding, “I have to go.”

Fractions of a second later, the door was thrown open. Refusing to look at the intruder, Tom only pulled his boney knees tighter to his chest, trying to make himself as small as possible on his ratty excuse of a bed.

“ _My boy, may God always watch over you_ ,” the slightly nasal, too highly pitched words of Father Jacques echoed through the room as he closed the door behind him. Refusing to react, Tom pressed his face deeper inside his arms, listening to the approaching feet. Moments later, a chair was noisily dragged towards the bed. The frame of the bed shook slightly as the priest’s voluminous body was lowered on the protesting piece of wooden furniture on top of the creaking floorboards.

“ _My boy, I am so happy to see you again_ ,” Father Jacques continued, his voice sounding very close, “ _I know that our last meeting was to neither of our expectations, but I hope that today will turn out to be much better. Do you not agree_?”

Instead of answering, Tom remained quiet.

“ _Good_ ,” the priest said, taking his opposite’s silence for an answer, “ _I think we should start where we finished last time. As I recall, you never answered if you think God watches over you. Now, my dear boy, do you believe that God is there for you_?”

Again, Tom remained silent.

“ _Good,_ ” Father Jacques whispered, his hot breath brushing over Tom’s ear, “ _God is never outdone in generosity. Today, you will learn how true these words are_.”

A cold shiver ran down the Dark Lord’s spine at the feeling of the sweaty fingers on his bare forearm, trying to pull him closer to the priest. At first, there was not much force behind the priest’s grip, but the longer Tom refused to react, the stronger the sweaty fingers closed around his thin arm, urging him to move. Eventually, the force was stronger than his meagre bodyweight and much too soon, Tom found himself faced with the hungry eyes of Father Jacques. As the priest leaned forward, his hand clearly on the way towards his thigh, a whimper escaped the Tom’s lips, begging Father Jacques to stop. Without success.

The eager fingers of the disciple of God landed on his thigh, gently caressing the delicate flesh through the thin fabric of his trousers. Without asking for consent, the fingers began to move in a dangerous direction.

“ _Please, stop_ ,” Tom whispered in French, feeling a hot tear rolling down his cheek, trying to supress the dark memories of his previous encounters with the catholic hierarchy.

Once again Father Jacques did not listen as he reached for the crown jewel.

Instinctively, the Apple wood wand of Thomas Prince slipped into the hand of the Dark Lord and Father Jacques was blasted through the bare room, crashing into the wall opposite the bed. Suppressing the glee he felt at the sight in front of him, Tom forced an expression of shock and anxiety on his face as he stared at the lifeless body of Father Jacques.

A few tense seconds later, the priest drew a raspy breath, his eyes full of fear as he stared at the Dark Lord in disguise while clutching his right arm tightly to his body. Shaking his head in denial, Father Jacques stumbled to his feet. A thin stream of blood was running down his chin emerging from the right corner of his mouths as he whispered, “ _Y…you… you…_ ”

The longer the priest stared at him, the larger his eyes grew, fear written all across his face as he screamed, “ _You shall not tempt me! You shall not hurt me! God, protect me from the spawn of Satan!_ ”

Being the spineless man he was, Father Jacques spun on his heels and fled instead of facing the apparent evil in the room any longer, slamming the door shut behind him. Once the priest was gone, the Dark Lord closed his eyes, exhaling in relief. He had experienced enough unpleasant encounters with the Catholic Church in his life as it was. Sensing the dark memories of dimly lit sanctuaries, greedy and sweaty hands, the ruffling of black cassocks, heavy crosses shoved in his face, the revolting wafts of frankincense, and hushed chants in Latin breaking free from their prison, Tom tried his best to strengthen his Occlumency shields. Deep breath after deep breath filled his lungs as his Occlumency shields prevailed and the horrors of his childhood were banished to the deepest dungeons of his mind.

Once his emotions were under control again, Tom opened his eyes, listening to the noises in the hallway. Everything was quiet except for the sound out children in the yard. Nobody had arrived yet. Tom was deeply thankful for the moment of quietness and peace. He was not sure if he would have been able to cope with the situation without the chance to gather himself. The results could have been catastrophic, maybe even to the point of ruining their entire plan.

Luckily, the French Ministry of Magic appeared to require as much time as the British to react to a situation like this. Since _Thomas Nero Prince_ had never crossed the gates of one the major magical schools, or had been registered as home-schooled at one of the Ministries of Magic, the Trace had never been applied to him, making him almost invisible to the authorities. Therefore, he was free to practise and to use magic even when his _parents_ were not around. Apparently, he did not exist in the eyes of the French Ministry.

Still, there was one exception. One way to alert the authorities.

Following the defeat of Grindelwald, most settlements within Europe had been covered with magical wards, so called Muggle Protection Wards, which would inform the respective Ministry of Magic whenever magic had been performed in the presence, or worse against a Muggle. While similar, although weaker wards had been present ever since the days of the Statute of Secrecy, they had been patchy, only applying to larger cities and villages with known magical communities. Back then, his magical outburst would have gone unnoticed, but not anymore. Still, despite the strengthened and _improved_ nature of the Muggle Protection Wards, there were plenty of loopholes around being detected. Since he had not bothered to hide his actions, Ministry officials would soon arrive to investigate the use of magic against _poor_ Father Jacques and thus find him.

Taking a deep breath, the Dark Lord focussed on the next step of the plan: making the perfect first impression. For that, one key ingredient was missing.

In the past, crying had never done him any good. Therefore, he had spent most of his life avoiding it as best as he could. Now, though, it was different. When he had first contemplated this aspect of the plan, he had been quite unsure if he, the Dark Lord, was even able to shed a tear. Fortunately, Harry had reminded him that he was not the emotionless monster Dumbledore believed him to be. Speaking of Harry, the past few days without his Equal had affected him more than he would ever admit. The thought of not being with Harry, not talking to him, not laughing with him, not plotting with him, not creating with him, not touching him, not feeling his magic was powerful enough to shake the foundations of the most hardened being. Never in his life would the Dark Lord have imagined that crying was so easy as he felt the first tears rolling down his face.

A few minutes later, the quietness was shattered. Two sets of heavy feet were making their way up the creaking stairs, while the noise on the yard outside had mysteriously died down.

“ _Whoever thought that it was a good idea to break into a Muggle orphanage and fire off waves of raw magic at one of their priest deserves to be carted straight to the Bastille,_ ” a deep, rather rough voice spat in French, “ _still, they will probably be gone by now.”_

 _“Henry, we do not know yet,”_ a second voice replied, this time much higher and calmer, “ _we still have the upper levels to go through and Aurélie and Raphaël are still questioning Father Jacques. Something is off about this attack. If it even was an attack.”_

 _“Of course, it was,”_ the voice belonging to Henry bellowed, _“what makes you think that it was not? The priest hallucinating about his encounter with Satan? They fantasise about stuff like that all of the time. Remember that book Laurent ga-“_

 _“Quiet, Henry,”_ the female voice spoke up. Fractions of a second later, Tom felt a wave of magic, probably an advanced Detection Charm, spreading through the walls and the rooms of the first level of the building, before the female voice gasped, “ _Mon dieu.”_

Without warning, the door was blasted open and the rough voice of Henry echoed through the small room, “ _Hands in the air. You are under arre-“_

 _“Stop it, Henry! It is just a boy, although I have no idea why the Trace failed to alert us since he clearly is a wizard,”_ the female voice interrupted the speech of her partner. Through the fingers of his shaking hands Tom could see two Aurors standing in the doorframe. Like all members of the Bureau des Aurors, they were clad in sturdy, yet elegant navy-blue duelling robes paired with dark dragonhide pants, boots of the same material, and a form fitting black shirt. The male Auror, Henry Tom supposed, had his wand still pointed at the trembling child in the corner of the room. His face which was framed by a mane of curly darkish brown hair was contorted into a grimace. With his tall and wide frame, he was towering over the delicate form of his partner, who had instead lowered her wand and was eyeing Tom with a calculated but also concerned expression. Pushing her jaw-length auburn hair behind her ears, the middle-aged witch threw a quick glance at her younger partner, silently ordering him to guard the door, before turning back to the trembling, sobbing form in front of her. Placing her wand back in the holster strapped to her arm, the witch slowly stepped closer to the bed, her empty hands clearly visible.

“ _We are not here to harm you, my dear. I promise. We, the members of the Bureau des Aurors, serve to protect the magical citizens of France,”_ the words of the witch were soft and soothing, “ _are you hurt?”_

As his body continued to tremble, Tom did not react to her words, his face remaining buried in his hands as tears continued to flow down his cheeks.

 _“Dear, if you do not object, I am coming closer to you. Is that alright?”_ the witch asked. Taking Tom’s lack of reaction for an answer, she slowly stepped forward until she stood right in front of the bed.

“ _Dear,_ ” she repeated, the concern in her voice real, _“are you hurt?_ ”

Continuing to sob in his hands, Tom quickly shook his head, while otherwise ignoring the two Aurors.

“ _I am glad that you are unharmed, dear,”_ the Auror said, clearly relieved that the child in front of her appeared to be unharmed, _“still, I must ask you what happened. We got alarmed that somebody used magic against a Muggle. Do you know anythi-“_

 _“What did you do to the Muggle priest?”_ Henry bellowed, cutting short his partner, “ _using_ _magic against Muggle is illegal and could easily land you ten years in the Bastille. It is a clear breach of the Statute of Secrecy and cou-“_

 _“Enough, Henry,”_ his partner said sharply before turning back to Tom, “ _do not listen to him. We do not know the entire picture of what happened. Innocent until proven guilty, as I like to say. Dear, there are extraordinary circumstances in which the use of magic against Muggles is legitimised, for example if you were trying to defend yourself. Now, dear, did you use magic on the Muggle?”_

Hopefully, Tom looked up from his hands, the female Auror was smiling at him reassuringly. He then slowly nodded his head, opening his mouth to explain himself.

Before a single sound could cross his lips, Henry’s voice thundered through the room, “ _I told you that he did it, Auberée. I knew it when I first saw him. He is resp-“_

 _“Henry, this is the last time that you have interrupted me and more importantly obstructed the investigation,”_ the female Auror, Auberée, hissed, having lost all softness in her voice, _“I am the higher-ranking of the two of us and I am certainly not the one on probation for unprofessional conduct. One word about your lacking professionalism to Head Auror de Valois, and your badge will be gone. If I were you, I would tread carefully. Is that understood, Henry?”_

As if frozen, the bulky Auror in question stared back at his partner, his eyes open wide like a scolded child. After what felt like an eternity, he slowly nodded his head in understanding before stepping back, leaving the questioning to the higher-ranking Auror. Once her partner had retreated, the female Auror turned her attention back to Tom, rolling her eyes in the process as if to say ‘see, what I have to put up with’, before her expression turned soft again. She then slowly sat herself down on the edge of the bed, placing her steady, warm hand on his arm to soothe the anxious child.

Tom flinched back from her touch, his voice sounding desperate, “ _Please, don’t… Not like he did. Please.”_

The hand froze in mid-air, as the expression on the witch’s face turned steely, “ _That priest touched you?”_

When Tom did not react, the Auror quickly added, “ _We will certainly not harm you in any way. We are here to protect you and to punish those who have done you wrong. In order to do that, you must tell us what happened. I promise that we will help you.”_

For a long moment, Tom stared at the witch as if to determine whether she had spoken the truth. Seemingly having come to a conclusion, words began to sputter out of his mouth accompanied by a new stream of tears, “ _He… he came to… to visit me two… two days ago…. They… they told me he would help me… pro… process everything… but instead, he… he touched me… It felt… felt weird… I did not like it at all… and I decided to not answer his… his questions. I was so relieved when he left… But today, he… he came back and to… told me that he… he would show me how… how gracious God is and… and reached for my… for my… It was horrible… I have never felt so… helpless and before I knew it… my wand was in my hand and he… he was flying through the room…”_

Before he knew it, two strong, yet soothing arms were wrapped around his boney shoulders, _“Dear, I am so sorry. I truly am. No child should be treated like that. Henry, inform Aurélie and Raphaël of the recent developments. I want you to thoroughly question the priest. Use Veritaserum if he should prove to be uncooperative. After all, this concerns the safety of a minor. If Head Auror de Valois should question your doings, send him to me. I vouch for you. I want this case to be solved as quickly as possible.”_

Once her partner had left, the Auror simply continued to hold him, trying her best to soothe the traumatised boy. No word was spoken, and for that, Tom respected the Auror. Her behaviour might not have been typical for her line of duty, but in this situation, it was exactly the right thing. After what must have at least been twenty minutes, Tom finally allowed himself to relax slightly.

Having felt the shift in the child, the Auror loosened her embrace without letting go of Tom. Instead, she leaned back slightly and carefully wiped the last tear off his cheek. For a moment, their eyes met, before Tom quickly averted his gaze.

“ _It is alright, dear. It is alright,”_ she said, gently patting his back, _“I must apologise to you. I have not even asked for your name, and in turn, not told you mine. I am Auberée de la Roche, Senior Auror of the Bureau des Aurors. What is yours?”_

 _“I… I am Tho… Thomas,”_ the Dark Lord stuttered, carefully leaving out his surname.

 _“Nice to meet you, Thomas,”_ Auberée smiled _, “I could not help but notice that you mentioned that this awful man who calls himself a priest was supposed to help you ‘process’ something. Thomas, you have not been in this orphanage for long, have you?”_

At first, Tom remained quiet, refusing to tell the Auror, playing his part of a child raised by paranoid parents on the run. After a bit of back and forth, Auberée de la Roche finally managed to win his trust and he eventually told her why he had ended up at the orphanage, about his home-schooling, and the constant moves from city to city and town to town, carefully leaving out any names and the reasoning behind his parents’ behaviour. Throughout his tale, he had to stop several times, tears flowing down his face, while the Auror tried to comfort him.

“ _Do you know if you have any relatives who could take you in?”_ Auberée asked once he had finished, “ _while you certainly will not be staying here, it would be a lot easier to have you move in with a relative.”_

 _“No,”_ Tom answered after a while, “ _maman and papa never spoke about any siblings, grandparents, aunts, and uncles.”_

Auberée de la Roche sighed, _“It certainly would have made quite a few things a lot easier.”_

 _“Does… does that mean I have to… have to stay here?”_ Tom asked, looking at the Auror with sad, hopeless eyes.

 _“No, certainly not, Thomas,”_ Auberée answered quickly, placing a reassuring hand on his arm, _“the Ministère des Affaires Magiques firmly believes that no young witch or wizard should remain alone in the Muggle world. While there are exceptions if the parents or guardians are non-magical yet grasp and cherish the gift of their ward, Muggles rarely react that way. Therefore, I can promise that even in the case of failing to find any relatives of yours, you will never be forced to come back here or to live in any other Muggle orphanage or non-magical foster family.”_

 _“Thank you, Madame Auberée,”_ Tom said, his facial features morphing into a smile.

“ _That is the least I can do, Thomas,”_ the Auror smiled, “ _well, how about we get you all packed up so I can take you to the Ministère to start looking for you relatives?”_

Instead of the smile Auberée de la Roche had expected, a fearful expression appeared on the face of the child before her.

 _“The Ministère?”_ Tom whispered, the knuckles on his shaking hands turning whiter the tighter he clutched his knees, “ _I… I cannot go there… They… they will tu…. turn me in and wi-“_

 _“Turn you in to whom?”_ the Auror asked in confusion, “ _the Ministère des Affaires Magiques is not going to send you to somebody you do not feel comfortable with. We are not going to abandon you. We are here to protect you. Whom do you fear?”_

“ _You… you do not work together with… with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?”_ Tom stared at her with big eyes.

“ _The Dark Lord of the British Isles?”_ Auberée asked incredulously, “ _he has been gone for a decade. Defeated, quite possibly killed by an infant. No one has seen him ever since.”_

 _“He is gone?”_ Tom asked, his jaw slightly unhinged, “ _but my parents said…”_

 _“He is gone,”_ the Auror said, her words filled with determination, “ _you do not need to fear him or any of his lackeys. Magical Europe has been enjoying a decade of peace ever since the war ended in Grande-Bretagne. If he was the reason why your parents were on the run, I am afraid they hid for naught. Besides, the Ministère des Affaires Magiques has and will never cooperate with criminals. Do you understand?”_

After a minute, Tom slowly nodded his head, thinking in the back of his mind that he really deserved an award for his stellar performance up to this point. Eventually, _Thomas_ agreed to be taken to the French Ministry. Once his meagre belongings had been packed, the Auror explained that she would take him to the nearest Apparition point from where she would take him to the Ministère, more specifically to one of her acquaintances in the Département de la Famille. Afterwards, Tom quickly followed her out of the orphanage. According to her explanation, it would not be a long way.

Before they had even crossed the yard of the depressing building, a deep voice called after the Auror, “ _Auberée, wait.”_

Stopping in her tracks, Auberée de la Roche eyes landed on the fast-approaching form.

“ _Auberée, you were right. I am sorry,”_ her partner gasped once he was in earshot, “ _that priest really tried to… touch him, and it was not the first ti-“_

 _“Henry, enough. He does not need to hear more,”_ the female Auror spoke quickly, throwing a concerned glance at the child at her side, before turning to her partner again, “ _he will pay for what he has done. Still, I think Thomas here should be the one you should apologise to and not me.”_

Opposite of her, Henry’s face turned an interesting shade of red as he stuttered a hasty apology while his partner only rolled her eyes. Once the rather embarrassing encounter was over, Auberée de la Roche briefly instructed her partner on how to proceed with Father Jacques, before finally departing with Thomas.

Stumbling for appearance sake, the grip of the female Auror was the only thing keeping him upright upon arrival at the French Ministry. Once the disorienting feeling of being forced through a very tight rubber tube had faded and he had straightened himself, Tom’s jaw dropped as his eyes wandered over the lavish entrance hall of the Ministère des Affaires Magiques, some of the emotions being real for a change.

In his _previous_ life, he had never set foot in the French Ministry. Therefore, he was quite surprised by the grand, yet airy and tasteful interior of the entrance hall. While the French had always been much more tasteful than the British regarding fashion and design, he had not expected their Ministry to represent this virtue in quite such a way.

The white marble on the floor and the large marble pillars were reminiscent of Gringotts, but that is where the similarities ended. Unlike the sheer dominance of marble at the Goblin bank, the walls were whitewashed. If it had not been for the delicate gold ornaments around the large windows, one could say that the design of the entrance hall was unspectacular. Given the fantastic view of the Place de la Sorbonne with its famous Chapelle, the statement was entirely wrong. To say that the Dark Lord was surprised about the location of the Ministère des Affaires Magiques certainly was an understatement. During his travels, he had visited this part of the City of Love. Never in his dreams would he have imagined that the French Ministry was located right in the heart of Paris, especially since it was not underground like its British counterpart.

Once he had processed the location of the Ministère, his gaze wandered upwards. The high, airy light-blue ceiling was covered with a large fresco. Unlike the tasteless Fountain of Magical Brethren at the British Ministry, all sorts of magical creatures and beings were depicted side by side with magical France’s most renowned witches and wizards like Nicolas Flamel, the famous playwright Malecrit, or Pierre Bonaccord, the first Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards. The artistry was simply magnificent and by far the most detailed and life-like fresco he had ever seen. A true masterpiece.

Sadly, there was only little time to inspect the spectacular entrance hall as Auberée de la Roche signalled him to follow her towards a security checkpoint. Once a few words with the two Aurors on duty had been exchanged and his Apple wand had been registered, they headed towards a row of lifts.

Already dreading what would come next, Tom almost instinctively reached for one of the handles which thankfully had been installed with not only tall witches and wizards in mind. Much to his surprise, the passengers were alerted by a female voice that the lift was about to move. Instead of the suicidal speed he had expected, the lift began to move upwards at a gentle speed, making Tom once again question the sanity of the British Wizarding community. Why nobody had adjusted the deathly contraptions at the British Ministry, Tom did not know. Who in their right mind would insist on keeping magical lifts which would make you nauseous whenever you used them? Even in the magical world, simple things such as lifts could be enchanted to transport you without turning your stomach upside down, even if it took a moment longer.

After a minute or so, the female voice informed them that they had arrived at the level which housed the Département de la Famille. Much like the airy and welcoming entrance hall, the third floor of the Ministère was kept in light colour while small tables and chairs as well as plenty of plants scattered between every second or third door all along the corridor giving the Département a much more homely character than its British counterpart.

Auberée stopped at a door towards the end of the corridor, the nameplate reading ‘ _Apolline Delacour, Chef Adjoint du Département de la Famille’._ Knocking twice, Auberée was quickly signalled to enter. Inside, Tom found himself in a spacious, tastefully furnished office with a large mahogany desk at its centre. A petit, beautiful woman with long silvery-blonde hair, who was wearing green leafy robes, was sitting behind the desk. Sensing her alluring aura, Tom immediately knew that she must have Veela blood running through her veins. Given the strengths of her allure, it must have been a quite recent addition to her line. The moving pictures of what must be her daughters on the desk only supported his theory.

Taken slightly aback by his revelation, he almost missed the beginning of the conversation between the two women once they had taken seats in front of Madame Delacour’s desk. Luckily, he quickly caught on to the explanation of how Auberée de la Roche had discovered _Thomas_ in the Muggle orphanage in Le Havre.

“ _Mon dieu, my poor boy,”_ Madame Delacour said once the Auror had finished, her voice kind and soft, “ _I am glad that we got you out of there. Still, I hope that we will continue to help you. First, I have a question for you. Do you want us to help finding your relatives?”_

Staring into the shiny, large, deep blue eyes of the part-Veela, he nodded in confirmation without much thinking.

 _“Tres bien,”_ Madame Delacour smiled _, “in order to find you relatives, we need as much information as you can remember. I must remind you to be as forthcoming as possible but remember that the information will be used to your benefit and your benefit only. We will not hand you over to some evil forces. We are only trying to help you. Do you understand, dear?”_

Despite averting their eyes, Tom squirmed underneath the intense gaze of the two witches, eventually clearing his throat, “ _Yes, I do.”_

 _“How about you start with their names?”_ Auberée suggested, smiling encouragingly at the Dark Lord.

 _“Well, maman and papa never told me much. They said it could endanger us if I knew too much,”_ Tom sighed, closing his eyes in concentration, “ _in public, my parents went by the names ‘Joan’ and ‘Anton’, although I am pretty sure that these were not their real names. I know that papa used to call maman ‘Madeleine’ whenever they thought I was not listening. I never overheard papa’s name, but I think ‘Prince’ is our real surname. Apart from that, I only know that both of them used to attend a school called Beauxbâtons I think and that both grew up close by the sea. They never liked staying far away from the ocean. Papa loves Potions and maman likes Arithmancy and music, although she does not like the Wizarding kind. She always said that Muggle music is much better.”_

He finished staring at his knees, fumbling with the hem of his shirt.

“ _Is that all?”_ Auberèe de la Roche asked, one eyebrow raised.

Tom quickly nodded his head in answer.

“ _Thank you, Thomas,”_ Madame Delacour said, trying to hide her shock that the parents of a child had gone to such lengths to stay hidden, “ _although it is not much, I think we can work from here on. We will try to find your relatives. Should you remember anything, do not hesitate to inform us. For the time being, I think it would be best for you to stay here. We have rooms here for young Witches and Wizards in dire situations where they can stay until a solution regarding their whereabouts has been found. Currently, there is one young Witch staying here, although you will of course get your own room. There is always at least one member of the Département de la Famille staying here. Therefore, there is always someone present for you to talk to no matter what kind of help you require. Once we get the permission from Head Auror de Valois, we will immediately start our investigations. You, of course, will be informed about our progress. Does that sound acceptable to you?”_

Unlike the British Wizarding community, the French appeared to take greater care of their minors instead of blindly trusting in the _good hearts_ of the Muggles. Surprised by their care, Tom only nodded his head. Given that they did suspect his parents to be Muggleborns, it was rather unsurprising that they did not consider the use of Inheritance Ritual and instead would try to search for any records of _Anton_ and _Madeleine Prince._

Once the two witches had informed him of all further proceedings, he was led to separate part of the Département. The room he was given was airy and welcoming, containing a medium-sized, comfortable looking bed. Once Auberée de la Roche and Apolline Delacour had shown him the rest of the wing reserved for young witches and wizards in dire situations, the two insisted on keeping him company throughout the rather late dinner. Tom thought it was a rather nice gesture.

The next morning, he woke up well rested. Unlike the previous night at the rather shabby Orphelinat Sainte Marie, the Ministére des Affaires Magiques really seemed to make an effort to properly care for Wizarding France’s young ones.

Once he had opened his eyes, the Dark Lord’s eyebrows shot upwards. A bundle of new clothes was resting on a stool in the corner close to the small window. The quality of the simple Wizarding robes was more than decent, especially in contrast to the patchy Muggle clothes he had been wearing. After a quick shower in the small adjunct bathroom, he noted that the robes fit rather well, gently hugging his skinny frame.

Before he could even think about what to do next, a knock echoed through his room. Once he had given the permission to enter, Madame Delacour wished him a good morning, complementing his new clothing before asking him if he had slept well. After Tom had indeed confirmed that he was feeling much better than yesterday, the Chef Adjoint du Département de la Famille informed him that once he had finished breakfast, there was a meeting scheduled to announce the possible start of the investigation to find his relatives. Sensing his nervousness, Madame Delacour tried to calm him, ensuring him that it was very rare for such a request to be denied. Furthermore, herself and Auberée de la Roche would be present during the meeting.

Half an hour later, he was escorted to a smaller conference room. Once Madame Delacour had opened the door, his eyes quickly moved over the figure of Auberée de la Roche who was sitting at a round table in the centre of the room, a stack of papers in front of her, before moving over a hospital bed in front of the wall opposite the Auror, finally coming to a halt on a tall, regal figure in front of the large window opposite the door.

“ _Monsieur Prince, it is a pleasure to meet you,”_ a deep baritone voice was greeting him as the tall, regal figure turned around, offering Tom his hand as he crossed the room. Being the naïve child that he portrayed, Tom immediately accepted the large, calloused hand that spoke of a hard-working wizard and was in stark contrast to his otherwise immaculate exterior speaking of a rich and long ancestry and more in line with the powerful aura of magic surrounding him.

 _“Auror de la Roche informed me of the very unfortunate circumstances leading to your discovery. On behalf of the entire Ministère des Affaires Magiques, I, Charlemagne de Valois, Head of the Bureau des Aurors, offer you my most sincere condolence to your losses and everything that followed afterwards,”_ the tall Auror continued, his grey eyes filled with sincerity, while an expression of concern had replaced his mask of indifference of his finely sculpted Pureblood facial features which were framed by a mane of long light-brown curls falling past his muscular shoulders. The cut and quality of his robes was exquisite and would turn every British Auror and even some of the rich Purebloods green in envy.

 _“Merci, Head Auror de Valois,”_ Tom replied, slightly squirming under the intense gaze of the tall Auror, “ _your words mean a lot.”_

 _“Yet they are only words,”_ Charlemagne de Valois sighed, letting go of the Dark Lord’s hand, “ _it pains me to see a magical child in such a situation. I wish we could have done something to prevent this happening to you, but sadly our hands were bound as we have only learned very recently of your existence. Still, I hope that we can assist you as best as we possibly can to ensure that your future will be much brighter. Therefore, it is my pleasure to inform you that I have given green light for the search of your relatives. The investigation will be conducted by Auror de la Roche and Madame Delacour since both are already familiar with your situation. They will start immediately. For the duration of the investigation, Auror de la Roche will be freed from her duties within the Bureau des Aurors. You, of course, will be informed about all developments.”_

 _“Je vous remercie, Auror de Valois,”_ Tom thanked the Head of the Bureau des Aurors, seemingly overwhelmed by the care of the French Ministry and its officials.

“ _Monsieur Prince, that is the least we can do,”_ Charlemagne de Valois said, the corners of his mouth curling into a faint smile, “ _furthermore, to ensure that you are well, Guérisseur Orléans will check your health.”_

This Tom clearly had not expected. At least not here in front of so many people.

The feeling must have been mirrored on his face as Charlemagne de Valois continued to explain, “ _There is no reason to worry. Guérisseur Orléans is one of the best healers here in France and very used to dealing with children. He will cast a few of the standard Diagnostic Charms on you to see if you are developing as you should or if there are any hidden ailments. Again, it is a fairly standard procedure every child here is subjected to.”_

As if on command, a small figure stepped forwards. Given the rather dominant magical aura and the overall impressive frame of Charlemagne de Valois, it was hardly surprising that Tom had failed to notice the healer. With his short chocolate-brown hair, unremarkable facial features and simple robes, there was hardly anything memorable about the healer.

“ _Monsieur Prince,”_ Guérisseur Orléans said, his voice surprisingly deep and melodic for his short frame, “ _if you grant me permission, I will cast a few standard Diagnostic Charms on you. The Charms will not hurt or affect you in any possible way. Instead, they should uncover any sustained injuries, badly healed bones, Curse damage, malnutrition, and allergies. Should we find something, we will of course try to rectify the damage. Monsieur Prince, would you mind hopping on the hospital bed?”_

Praying to whoever was listening, Tom slowly made his way over to the hospital bed, eyeing the Healer suspiciously. Having anticipated the possibility of a Diagnostic Charm cast on him, the Dark Lord had prepared for this situation, something, which certainly had not been easy and would certainly not be easy to pull off. After all, it would be quite suspicious if the medical record of his new body would turn out clean. Climbing on the hospital bed, Tom’s eyes followed the movements of Guérisseur Orléans as he produced a short, rather thick wand out of a hidden holster and began to explain the proceedings.

Pretending to listen to the explanations, Tom instead focussed on the modified version of his medical record of his previous body he and Harry had put together. Originally, they had hoped to permanently attach the modified medical record to his current body, but it had not worked out that way. While the ritual they had created had miraculously merged the modified medical record with his new body, it had somehow failed to completely replace the blank record of his new body. All attempts to rectify this slight inconvenience had failed so far. Still, they had at least figured that there was a way to prevent both medical records to show up on a magical health report.

Concentrating very hard on the modified medical record, Tom pushed back the true, yet blank one of his new body, which was easier said than done, to the point that he almost missed the question of the healer, “ _Monsieur Prince, are you alright?”_

The question was met by a silent nod of his head as he continued to focus on the task.

“ _Would you allow me to cast the first Diagnostic Charm on you?”_ Guérisseur Orléans continued to ask.

Again, the Dark Lord replied with a faint nod. Moments later, he felt a rather gentle wave of magic washing over him. Once the magic had faded, the wand of the healer swirled through the air in a series of complicated movements before coming to a halt over a piece of parchment on a nearby table. Trying his best to hide his nervousness, the Dark Lord’s eyes were firmly glued on the parchment.

A wave of relief surged through his body as the writing on the parchment got longer and longer. Internally, Tom sighed in relief as the healer began to check his medical record.

“ _Monsieur Prince,”_ Guérisseur Orléans cleared his throat after a while, “ _I am relieved to announce that you appear to be in good health. There is nothing out of the ordinary on your medical record except that you appear to be a bit on the lean side, a bit too much maybe. With the right diet we should get you on a healthy weight in no time. Speaking of a healthy diet, and I do not know if you are already aware of this, but you have to be careful with dairy produce. While it does not appear to be a strong allergy, I would advise to keep your intake of dairy produce at a minimum.”_

In answer, Tom once again nodded his head, musing to himself that his new body had developed the same quirk his old one had had. While he had not checked his body for any allergies, he had simply stayed away from dairy products out of habit. During his miserable stay at Wool’s Orphanage, he had basically eaten anything that had somehow ended in front of him, ignoring the backlash some of the food seemed to cause. Only later at Hogwarts he had discovered that the source of his discomfort was milk, although the effects of cheese were not as bad and relatively tolerable. Therefore, he had stayed away from certain kinds of food if he could afford to be picky.

“ _I was aware of the allergy,”_ Tom said quietly, “ _and know from which foods to stay away from.”_

 _“Tres bien,”_ Guérisseur Orléans smiled before turning to Charlemagne de Valois, “ _Monsieur de Valois, as far as I can tell, Monsieur Prince is as healthy as one can be. Should you have any questions or require my help, feel free to contact me.”_

After the medical examination and a few last words from the Head of the Bureau des Aurors, Tom was escorted back to his room. The rest of the day paled in contrast to the rather eventful morning. While Madame Delacour and Auberée de la Roche would join him for lunch, not much else happened, leaving Tom to entertain himself. Luckily, there was a small library in the separated part of the Département de la Famille where he found a few introduction texts used at Beauxbâtons. Although there was nothing new in the books, it was quite entertaining to see that the French books contained a much broader range of spells and charms than the biased texts currently used at Hogwarts.

The only real surprise was the visit of Henry, Auberée de la Roche’s partner, shortly after lunch. The first few minutes of their meeting were rather awkward given the previous behaviour of the Auror and it became apparent rather quickly that he had been bullied by Auberée to further apologise to _Thomas_ by spending time with the poor orphan. Despite the rough start, they soon found a topic to discuss.

Much to Tom’s surprise, the Auror appeared determined to not disappoint his partner and thus seemed adamant to keep _Thomas’_ company. In search of a safe topic, he had offered to answer any question the orphan might have about Wizarding France. While the Dark Lord had spent some time in the continental European country and was aware of most influential families and their political ambitions, his knowledge really was not up to date. Therefore, Tom decided to try his luck with the Auror. Surprisingly, Henry proved to be rather resourceful. After all, Tom quickly realised that he was a Capet.

As the fourth son of the Duke of Burgundy, Eudes XVII, the patriarch of one of France’s oldest and purest bloodlines, it was hardly surprising that Henry Capet was aware of the finer workings of France’s Wizarding society. Unlike most though, he seemed to genuinely appreciate the knowledge as well as enjoy telling people about the workings of the French Wizarding society, while Tom in turn filled him in on the supposed past of _Thomas Prince_. It was well past dinner when the Henry Capet left, leaving behind an expertly entertained Dark Lord.

When Tom awoke the next day, he was feeling rather restless. It was Wednesday and today was the day of the trial of Peter Pettigrew. It was also the day _Thomas Prince’s_ true heritage was supposed to be discovered, although he had no idea how that was going to happen, especially since so far very little had happened. Deciding not to worry too much, Tom grabbed his toiletries and headed for the shower.

Exiting the bathroom, drying his hair with a wave of his hand, he had just been about to wonder about breakfast, when a knock echoed through his door. A few moments later, Henry Capet entered the room, two tablets filled with a hearty breakfast floating in front of the Auror.

“ _It is good to see you eat. A fine young lad such as yourself should not be as skinny as you are,”_ Henry spoke up once he had finished his last of his croissant, pushing a plate with slices of cucumbers and camembert in the Dark Lord’s direction, “ _Thomas, I know you must have been wondering why I am here. As you must have guessed correctly, Aurors usually are not used as breakfast company. I just thought it would be nice for you to not be alone. Furthermore, I was told to fetch you after breakfast. Auberée and Madame Delacour want to show you something they have discovered, but only after that plate of yours has been cleared.”_

Staying true to his words, Henry Capet had only let _Thomas_ leave the table once his plate had been emptied. His full stomach was making funny twists and turns as they were finally approaching the office of Madame Delacour. Wondering about the discoveries of the two women, he followed Henry into the office.

“ _Bonjour, Thomas,”_ Apolline Delacour greeted him immediately, a warm and welcoming smile on her face as she signalled Tom towards the chair opposite the two witches, “ _did you sleep well?”_

While the corners of his mouth curled into a faint, rather shy smile, the Dark Lord nodded in confirmation, “ _Bonjour, Mesdames”_

 _“It is good to finally see a smile on your face, Thomas,”_ Auberée de la Roche said, “ _I hope Henry did not bother you too much. I thought it would be good for you to not be alone for too long.”_

 _“No,”_ Tom answered quickly, “ _I am really glad that he was there, especially since he answered a lot of my questions. I know so little about the Wizarding world.”_

 _“It shall be rectified,”_ the female Auror smiled, “ _starting with your family. Luckily, Apolline and I did not have to search for long.”_

Reaching for an open, rather heavy tome, Auberée de la Roche placed the book in front of Tom, pointing towards the picture of a young woman, “ _This is the yearbook of Beauxbâtons’ graduating class of 1973. While we did not find a ‘Joan’, we found a ‘Madeleine Joan’ who matches your description. Could this be your mother?”_

Upon seeing the moving picture, the Dark Lord slowly nodded in confirmation, seemingly fighting against the tears which were trying to make their way down his cheek at the sight of his supposed mother. While he had not truly identified the picture, the name, and date of birth had done the job.

“ _It’s alright. We are here for you,”_ Auberée de la Roche’s gentle voice echoed through the spacious office, as she patted his back, “ _I am glad that you can confirm our suspicion, Thomas. Apolline_ _and I had a feeling that this would be her, given that she apparently went by her second name. Therefore, we did a bit of digging before you arrived. To our knowledge, there are no witches and wizards with the surname Lefebvre. Since it is a rather common Muggle name, Apolline and I agree that she must be a Muggleborn. As the policy of the Ministère does not allow magical children to be placed with non-magical guardians unless the child has grown up there, it will be unlikely that you will be allowed to stay with any potential relatives on your mother’s side. Let us now move on to your father’s side.”_

Once _Thomas_ appeared to have processed the discovery of his mother, the Auror started to flip through the large tome, coming to a halt at a marked page.

“ _You were right in your assumption,”_ Auberée began, looking up from the page ahead of her, “ _his real name was not ‘Anton’, but I think we have found him. You look just like your father, ‘Nero Aurelius Prince’.”_

Staring at the moving picture of his supposed father with big eyes, Tom almost missed the next words of the Auror, “ _Unfortunately, we think that he must also be a Muggleborn, given that there are no magical families with that name here in France, only Muggle families, although most do not live here but in pays anglaise. Therefo-“_

 _“What did you say was his name?”_ the deep, rather rough voice of Henry, who surprisingly had not left, thundered through the office as the tale, rather bulky Auror stepped closer to the table.

While an expression of confusion was gracing the face of Madame Delacour, the eyes of Auberée were narrowed in calculation, as she offered the heavy tome to her partner, “ _His real name is ‘Nero Aurelius Prince’. Does that sound familiar to you, Henry?”_

Without saying a word, the tall Auror accepted the heavy tome, his eyes narrowed to slits as he studied the moving picture in front of him. Silence was heavy in the air as Henry continued to study the short text underneath the portrait of Nero Aurelius Prince, while his eyes would occasionally move over _Thomas_. Taking a deep breath, the Auror closed his eyes and began to mumble, although neither Tom nor the two witches in the room could understand anything.

“ _Look, Henry,”_ Auberée said after several minutes, “ _there are no magical families with the surname Prince, especially not here in France. I have no ide-“_

 _“Not here, but in England,”_ the bulky Auror finally said, his eyes never leaving Tom _, “although the name Prince is a rather common Muggle surname, there has only ever been one magical family with the name. The Prince family was one of the oldest and richest British Pureblood lines. Unlike most magical British families today, their ancestors did not originate from continental Europe but have always lived in Britain, making it one of the only true British lines. ‘A clever line of Spellcrafters and Potioneers with smooth dark hair and onyx eyes’ they were described. Much like the Black family is known to name their children after stellar constellations, the male members of the Prince family all bear the names of Roman Emperors. For example, the last Lord of their line that I can remember, although he passed a decade ago, was called Octavian. Given that they were rather reclusive and never traded much with witches and wizards outside of Wizarding Britain, little is known about them. Therefore, it might be possible that some of your relatives are still alive, Thomas.”_

For a moment, no one spoke.

“ _You think that Thomas is a descendant of this obscure line?”_ Auberée finally asked.

“ _Oui_ ,” Henry replied, his head slightly tilted as he stared at the page ahead of him, “ _this just cannot be a coincidence with the father bearing the name of two Roman emperors and the description matching. Thomas, while I know that they did not tell you much, does any of this sound familiar to you? Do you maybe remember if they ever talked about your second name, if there is one, or did your parents ever talk about Britain, except that they were fleeing from the Dark Lord?”_

 _“Well,”_ the Dark Lord began, seemingly in thoughts, “ _when dad was not working at the apothecary, he sometimes brewed Potions at home since he did not trust anything pre-made. When I was older, he would also teach me… They never really talked about Angleterre, only about the war going on there…”_

 _“Nothing else?”_ Madame Delacour asked softly, “ _maybe something that seems trivial to you.”_

Closing his eyes, Tom seemingly contemplated his answer for a moment, “ _Sometimes, dad would joke how bad mom’s English was. Therefore, only he taught me English, using it whenever he was talking to me. Although when I asked him why he would do that, he said that it was quite normal for children to learn foreign languages. Hence, I never questioned it.”_

The three adults in the room exchanged glances, before Henry cleared his throat, “ _This cannot be a coincidence. He has to be tested.”_

 _“Tested?”_ Tom asked, his eyes growing wide as a fearful expression was forced onto his face.

“ _Calm down, my dear,”_ Madame Delacour said, “ _what Auror Capet refers to is a magical Inheritance Ritual which will determine whether you indeed belong to a magical line. The Ritual itself is conducted by the Goblins at Gringotts, the Wizarding bank. All you have to do is donate three drops of your blood. I know that this does not sound pleasant upon first hearing, but otherwise, you will not be affected, and we can heal the small cut immediately. If you choose to offer you blood, the Goblins will be able to determine if you are indeed a part of the British Prince family. Furthermore, they will be able to identify your magical relatives. Should some of them still be alive, the Goblins can help us contact them. Given that we thought both your parents were Muggleborns, we had not considered this step. I know how… new this must all sound to you, but is there a chance that you might consider going through with the Inheritance Ritual? It would make a lot of things easier.”_

Like a deer caught in the headlights, all _Thomas_ did was to stare at the three adults ahead of him while no word left his mouth.

“ _Is it the ritual, dear?”_ Madame Delacour asked softly, “ _we will of course accompa-“_

Before the Chef Adjoint du Département de la Famille could finish, Tom was already shaking his head.

“ _What else bothers you, Thomas?”_ Auberée de la Roche leaned forward, once again placing a reassuring hand on his arm.

“ _It… it’s just if we do not find anyone,”_ Tom whispered, as he tried to make himself smaller, “ _or if we find somebody and I do not like them. Do I have to go wi-“_

 _“Most certainly not, dear,”_ Madame Delacour said, radiating calmness and determination at the same time, “ _no matter the outcome, you shall never be forced to live with someone you feel uncomfortable with, be it a stranger, or a relative. Should there be no relative alive that could take care of you or that you like, we will find a magical family or guardian who fulfils our strict requirements and only has your wellbeing and happiness in mind. Of that, we will make sure.”_

 _“Thank you,”_ Tom whispered, his eyes filled with reverence as he returned the faint smile of Madame Delacour, “ _thank you so much for everything.”_

 _“That is the least we can do, dear,”_ Madame Delacour replied, before looking at the female Auror next to her.

Clearing her throat, Auberée de la Roche leaned forward, “ _Thomas, I want you to know that you and no one else sets the pace. If you are not ready yet, just tell us and we will wait. We can visit Gringotts anytime. We can wait if you would prefer.”_

 _“No,”_ the Dark Lord added quickly, “ _I… I just want to know.”_

 _“Are you sure?”_ Madame Delacour asked, looking rather concerned.

Again, Tom nodded his head in confirmation, “ _I am sure.”_

 _“Henry, inform Head Auror de Valois of the recent discoveries,”_ Auberée de la Roche’s intense eyes were piercing her partner, making it clear that she expected him to follow her words without question, “ _tell him that I and Madame Delacour are accompanying Thomas to Gringotts. I might be gone for most of the day. Thomas, shall we get your bag just in case?”_

They were just about to leave the office of Madame Delacour when the deep, rather rough voice of Henry stopped them, “ _Thomas, I know that the two of us did not have the best start. Still, I want you to know that my door is always open for you. If you do not find someone you feel comfortable living with, you can stay with me.”_

Surprised by the words of the bulky Auror, Tom could not help himself but to stare. Realising what he had been doing, he blinked before whispering, “ _Thank you, Henry.”_

In the distance, a tall building of nothing but white marble was rising into the cloudless sky as he was led down the meandering la Rue Royale, France’s more elegant and much grander equivalent of Diagon Alley.

“ _Thomas, how do you feel about Henry’s offer?”_ Auberée de la Roche brought him out of his thoughts.

“ _To be honest, I was quite surprised,”_ Tom answered.

“ _You certainly were not the only one,”_ the Auror chuckled before turning serious once again, “ _I want you to know that Henry, unlike most, would not take advantage of you should you be the sole heir of a rich Pureblood line. As a Capet, although only the fourth in line, he already has enough money and political standing as it is. He would not care about your past, whether you are related to the British Prince family or not, as long as you are happy and healthy. I have known him for quite a while, and he is a very bad liar. He really meant what he said. Still, there might be other choices.”_

For the remainder of the walk, both witches remained quiet.

Inside Gringotts, Madame Delacour stopped in front of the only Goblin teller currently not occupied, “ _Good day, Master Goblin. I am here on urgent Ministère business. The young man here with me is in desperate need of an Inheritance Ritual.”_

 _“Bonjour, Madame Delacour,”_ the Goblin replied with a smile that was all teeth. Rather sharp teeth. The Dark Lord only then realised that it was Modrek sitting in front of him. Without the dark sturdy attire he had worn at Orphelinat Sainte Marie Tom had almost failed to notice the Goblin clad in the standard uniform worn by all tellers of the Magical bank.

“ _Shall the money be taken out of the usual vault and the receipt be sent to the Head of your Département?”_ Modrek asked, the French the Goblin was speaking, sounding somehow out of place in Tom’s ears. Also, this clearly was not the first encounter between the Goblins and the French Ministry regarding a minor.

“ _Of course,”_ Madame Delacour answered, lowering her head slightly in respect.

“ _Please, follow me,”_ Modrek said without further ado.

Much like the London branch of the Goblin bank, the white marble building in the centre of Wizarding Paris was a maze of endless corridors flanked by countless rather uniform doors.

The office they were led into was empty except for the large, currently unoccupied marble desk at its centre. Once three chairs had been conjured by Modrek, of course wandlessly, they were instructed to wait.

Luckily, they did not have to wait long until the massive door was opened again and a relatively large Goblin with broad shoulders strode into the office. Due to the previous encounter with Modrek, the Dark Lord was able to identify Zordrak immediately underneath his splendid uniform despite the absence of the Dragon’s fang that was usually dangling from his ear.

“ _Bonjour_ ,” the broad-shouldered Goblin greeted them in quick French once he had taken his seat behind the large desk, “ _my colleague informed me that this young man wishes to conduct an Inheritance Ritual. Am I correct with my assumption?”_

 _“You are correct,”_ Madame Delacour smiled, “ _Thomas here requires an Inheritance Ritual since we assume that he is not a Muggleborn and there might be relatives who could care for him. Before we start, I hope my question is to be excused and I certainly do not wish to disrespect you, but is Wotar not available? I am just so used to working with her in situations like this.”_

 _“Wotar is currently staying at our Tehran branch working on a short-term assignment. She should be back soon to resume her usual tasks. I will inform her that you asked about her. Meanwhile, I am filling in for her,”_ Zordrak explained before producing a small vial, a silvery needle, and an empty piece of parchment. Without further ado, the Goblin explained the components of the Inheritance Ritual and its procedure. Unlike the solely blood-based Identification Ritual Ragnok had performed, which had focussed more on _Thomas Nero Prince_ himself, the Inheritance Ritual would instead create a detailed family tree going as far back as the conductor of the ritual, Zodrak in this case, would allow his magic to power the ritual. Given the Laws of Magic, the further back the tree was supposed to reach, the more power it would require to achieve.

Before long, Tom uncorked the small vial, downing its content in one gulp. Ignoring the bitter aftertaste, he accepted the shiny needle. Once seven scarlet drops had been squeezed on the parchment, he handed the needle back to the Goblin. While Auberée de la Roche was healing his thumb, Tom watched out of the corner of his eye as Zordrak cleansed the needle with a wave of magic. While he trusted the Goblins, one could never be careful enough with blood. Once the task had been completed, the Goblin directed his magic at the parchment. A frown appeared on his face as no letters started to form, forcing the Goblin to push harder.

“ _Is it the Adansonia Leaf Extract again?”_ Madame Delacour asked. Faced with a single raised eyebrow from her opposite, the Chef Adjoint du Département de la Famille’ continued to elaborate, “ _Wotar keep complaining about the declining quality of your Madagascan suppliers, and that you are trying to find better solutions.”_

Ignoring Madame Delacour’s words for now, Zordrak continued to focus his magic on the parchment, only answering when the first letters finally started to form, “ _Yes, the recent quality of the Extract leaves much to be desired. While it works, it requires much more magic from our behalf to get it to work. Therefore, we are currently testing alternatives from Botswana, and Namibia.”_

Acknowledging the nod of understanding of Madame Delacour, the eyes of the Goblin quickly moved back on the advancing letters of the parchment. A few seconds later, his eyebrows shot upwards as he stared at the growing family tree in disbelief.

“ _Excusez moi, Master Goblin,”_ Madame Delacour asked, “ _did you discover something peculiar?”_

 _“Peculiar indeed, but not just one thing,”_ Zordrak almost snorted, his eyes still glued on the parchment, “ _I never thought that I would ‘discover’ one of them since they never settle outside of the British Isles.”_

“ _What is it?”_ Auberée de la Roche’s voice was barely above a whisper as she leaned forward to get a better look at the parchment.

In answer, the Goblin placed the parchment in the middle of the large desk for all to see, simultaneously cutting of the stream of magic that had previously been feeding the Inheritance Ritual, before pointing out a few names on the parchment as he spoke directly to the Dark Lord, “ _Firstly, you, Thomas Nero Prince were identified as a member of the Ancient and Most Noble Prince family, one of Magical Britain’s oldest Pureblood lines. To my knowledge, they have never lived anywhere but the British Isles. Therefore, finding you here is nothing short of a wonder, although I must point out that you do not belong to the main branch of the family. Secondly, I was under the impression that the main branch of the family had ceased to exist following the death of Lord Octavian Prince more than a decade ago. To my surprise, this is not the case as Lord Octavian’s sole grandchild, the son of his daughter Eileen, has taken over the mantle of the Prince estate. He appears to be the last living Prince besides you.”_

For a moment, Tom remained quiet, seemingly shocked by the discovery, before a whisper eventually escaped his lips, “ _I… I did not even know that I have a middle name.”_

 _“You do, young man,”_ Auberée de la Roche said lightly, gently patting his back, “ _and best of all, you are not alone. There is family out there. I know this is a bit much for you right now, but would you like to meet them?”_

Like a deer in the headlights, Tom slowly nodded his head, still staring at the myriad of names on his supposed family tree.

“ _Good,”_ the Auror finally said, concern clearly written in her eyes as she eyed the young wizard, before eventually turning to the Goblin, “ _I know that this might be a bit of a stretch given the rather… stretched relationship between the current Lord Prince and his cousin twice removed… Still, would it be possible for us to establish contact with Lord Prince, maybe even arrange a meeting at the Ministère?”_

 _“No, sadly that is not possible,”_ Zordrak answered, the emotion as he looked at Tom seemingly genuine, “ _I wish you could, but the Prince family is very… selective, some would even say secretive with their dealings. In general, they shun any contact with Witches and Wizards outside of Wizarding Britain as most foreign mail cannot reach them. They rarely if ever venture outside of the British Isles, and they do not acknowledge any foreign evidence like this family tree. Therefore, the chances that you can successfully contact and establish a functioning communication with the current Lord Prince are slim to nil.”_

 _“Is there nothing that we can do?”_ Auberée de la Roche asked, scepticism clearly written across her face, “ _not even for you at Gringotts? If you would approve the legitimacy of Thomas’ claim, an-”_

 _“No, that would not work either since all their dealing go through their personal account manager at our London branch, and the document in front of us would be regarded as void,”_ Zordrak explained _, “the only thing that might work is if I directly contact our London branch, and proving the legitimacy of Thomas’ claim there to then contact the current Lord Prince. Would you like me to do that?”_

 _“Oui,”_ Madame Delacour answered immediately, “ _should it include a fee, you know which vault to use.”_

 _“Of course,”_ Zordrak said with a smile that was all teeth, “ _please wait here.”_

For what felt like hours, but probably was much shorter, the two witches tried their best to soothe the seemingly nervous and shaken _Thomas,_ while also pointing out details on the copy of the family tree Zordrak had left behind.

Eventually, the Goblin returned.

“ _Monsieur Prince,”_ Zordrak began, not even taking his seat as he remained standing in front of the Dark Lord, “ _I am pleased to tell you that I managed to talk to the current manager of the Prince estate. Although he is rather sceptical of your claim, he assured me that everything can be legitimised should your heritage be confirmed in his presence at our Gringotts branch in London. Of course, the Inheritance Ritual would have to be repeated, and the current Lord Prince would have to acknowledge your claim. Under normal circumstances, an officially scheduled appointment would be required with the manager of the Prince estate to confirm your claim, which might sound easy at first, but is a rather lengthy and complex process given that you are currently not living on the British Isles. Due to your rather… special situation, the manager agreed to meet you without a proper appointment. Of course, there are limitations. Firstly, his offer only stands for today. Therefore, it will be invalid by tomorrow. Secondly, I must accompany you since I conducted the first Inheritance Ritual and since it is rather difficult to travel to other countries outside of our personal Floo Network. Thirdly, you should only accept if you agree to go through with a second Inheritance Ritual. Monsieur Prince, while you can decline, I would advise you against such action since it is indeed quite bothersome for foreigners to schedule appointments with our London branch.”_

 _“Ehmm… I… I…”_ Tom stuttered, confusion projected on his face, “ _I… am… unsure… I do not have a… have a problem with the conditions… It is just that I have never left France… especially not alone… Could… could Auror de la Roche and Madame Delacour… come with me?”_

 _“If Auror de la Roche and Madame Delacour want to accompany you,”_ the Goblin began, “ _they can…”_

 _“_ _Of course_ _,”_ Auberée de la Roche said quickly, “ _you are not alone, and nor will you be.”_

 _“Good,”_ the Goblin continued, while the expression of confusion and uncertainty on the Dark Lord’s face gave way to relief, “ _since you are currently serving as his temporal guardians, they can and should accompany you. Apart from that, do you agree with the terms, or do you need more time to consider? If not, we could leave immediately.”_

For a moment, Tom remained silent as if to contemplate his decision. Then, he straightened his back, looking at Zordrak with new-found determination, “ _I want to go.”_

Ten minutes later, they were escorted into the tightly guarded private Floo room at the centre of the Paris branch of the Goblin bank. Usually, international Floo connections, or Portkeys were tightly guarded by the Ministry of Magic of the respective countries. Because of the Goblins’ declaration of neutrality, they were exempt from the laws, although they were still fighting tooth and nail to keep it that way. Therefore, the Gringotts’ Floo Network was isolated from the Wizarding Networks, and only the Goblins themselves, their employees, and their customers were allowed to use it, the latter only if the dealings with the Goblins warranted and justified the journey to a different Gringotts branch. Still, sometimes the Goblins connected Wizarding fireplaces to their network, or let others use their Floo network, but only if it suited their agenda, and if the price was right. Luckily, the majority of the Wizarding world was unaware of these _special_ services of the Goblin bank.

Pretending to stare at the massive marble fireplaces with a mixture of awe and confusion, the Dark Lord instead listened as Zordrak informed the guard of the Floo Network, a menacing looking female Goblin by the name Groza clad in an impressive, and expertly crafted chestplate on top of her elegant, yet sturdy uniform, of the destination, and reason behind the travel, of course in quick Gobbledegook. Once the connection had been set up, Zordrak turned back to _Thomas,_ switching back to French, “ _Monsieur Prince, everything has been prepared now. Have you ever travelled via Floo before?”_

 _“No,”_ Tom answered, shaking his head, eyeing the now burning fireplace with suspicion.

“ _I can accompany him,”_ Auberée de la Roche said, placing an ensuring hand on his shoulder, “ _if that is possible.”_

Opposite the Auror, the Goblin nodded his head, “ _Oui, Madame. Once my colleague has activated the Floo connection, all you need to do is step into the flames. Since the destination of travel has already been keyed into the fireplace, there is no need for you to voice the location of our London branch. Monsieur Prince, just close your eyes, tuck in your elbows, and you should be fine. Once you have arrived there, Madame Delacour and I shall follow.”_

Taking the lack of question as an answer, Groza reached for an iron goblet. The Floo powder that was thrown into the fireplace was a lot darker than the standard powder used by the Wizarding community. The colour the rising flames turned into was also significantly darker than the usual emerald green. Accepting Auberée de la Roche’s hand, the pair stepped into the awaiting flames.

Once they had stopped spinning, the Dark Lord tried his best to land as ungracefully as possible, playing his part of an inexperienced Floo traveller to perfection. In the end, it was only Auberée de la Roche’s strong grip that prevented him from falling. For his flawless performance, the Dark Lord felt he really deserved an award.

Assuring the concerned Auror that he was not feeling too sick, he took a few tumbling steps forward. While awaiting the arrival of Madame Delacour, and Zordrak, Tom inspected the familiar white marble around him, pretending like he was seeing it for the first time.

Once everyone had arrived, they were escorted to a familiar office.

Somehow, Ragnok appeared a lot less friendly than Tom was used to when they were told in rather poor French to take the seats opposite the manager of three of the largest estates of Wizarding Britain, “ _Monsieur Prince, bienvenue à Gringotts. Je m'appelle Ragnok. Je suis le gérant du domaine Prince.”_

Still, given that Ragnok’s French really was not the best, it was an almost impossible task maintaining a straight face as he replied the greeting.

“Sadly, that is as far as my French goes,” the Goblin said, switching back to English, “therefore, I would prefer to conduct the remainder of this meeting in the official language of the Prince family. Should you, or your temporal guardians have any problems with the language, do not refrain asking for clarification. Zordrak assured me that he can help with the translation.”

“No, English is fine for me,” _Thomas_ replied, while Madame Delacour, although with a very thick French accent, and Auberée de la Roche assured that English would not be a problem for them.

“Very well,” Ragnok continued, while producing small vial filled with a familiar substance, a silvery needle, and an empty piece of parchment out of one of the many drawers of his desk, “I am afraid before I can discuss anything with you, Mister Prince, your claim must first be verified.”

Once the vial had been emptied, and a sufficient amount of blood had been squeezed on the parchment, Ragnok directed his magic at the parchment. At first, much like before, nothing happened. Muttering under his breath about the quality of the Adansonia Leaf Extract, the Goblin continued to push.

Minutes later, Ragnok finally looked up from the completed family tree, “Congratulations, Mister Prince. Your claim is indeed legitimate. Please wait here while I contact Lord Prince.”

Some time later, Auberée de la Roche cleared her throat, “ _Excusez-moi,_ how long do you estimate it will take for Lord Prince to arrive?”

“I am afraid that I do not know,” Ragnok replied, looking up from _Thomas’_ family tree he was still inspecting, “currently, he is at the Ministry of Magic, attending to his duty as a member of the British Wizengamot. Since the circumstances of today’s session are rather extraordinary, I have no idea how long the session will last. Maybe you have heard about the recent discovery of Peter Pettigrew, the one who truly betrayed the Potter family to the Dark Lord.”

While the two witches nodded in confirmation, an expression of confusion appeared on the Dark Lord’s face. Over the course of the next hour, Madame Delacour and Auberée de la Roche explained some of the major events of the last British Wizarding war to their protégé. Grateful for the distraction from the waiting, the Dark eagerly soaked up the take of the French Witches on the foreign conflict, while both Goblins continued to discuss the family tree.

Just as Madame Delacour started to explain her account on some of the Death Eater trials, Ragnok looked up from his desk, a frown on his face as he cursed in quick Gobbledegook.

The reason for his peculiar choice of words became apparent rather quickly as Tom felt the powerful magical aura which had just entered the Goblin bank.

Dumbledore was at Gringotts.

While he had hoped to prolong _Thomas Prince’s_ first encounter with the old fool for a bit longer, the Dark Lord could not deny that the prospect of meeting Dumbledore was rather thrilling.

“Is everything alright?” Auberée de la Roche asked, forcing Tom to concentrate on the here and now.

“Yes,” Ragnok replied, “just an unexpect-“

Before he could finish, a loud knock echoed through the office before the doors were opened, revealing Severus, Harry, and one Albus Dumbledore. The moment the Light Lord’s eyes fell on _Thomas Prince,_ his eyes grew wide, while his jaw dropped once more as he whispered, “No.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since I do not speak French, I'm not sure if the French passages are correct. Feel free to correct the French passages.
> 
> A quick update: My thesis is finally done. Therefore, I should have a lot more time now to work on this story. As of now (January 15th), I haven't started with the next chapter, but I will soon. Hopefully, I won't keep you waiting for too long. Fingers are crossed!


	6. A Deeper Connection - Part I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big Thank You to my fantastic Betas!!!

For a moment, time appeared to stand still as the Lord of the Light stared at the Dark Lord, disbelief and shock clearly written all over his face.

Then, Dumbledore did the stupidest thing he could do as he reached for his wand, while pushing Harry out of Ragnok’s office.

Before he could even point the wand in Tom’s direction, four heavily armoured guards had already arrived, while Ragnok rose to his feet, the air in the room growing colder as he spoke, his hard eyes fixated on the unassuming wand in the Headmaster’s hand, “I would tread carefully. You forget, Mister Dumbledore, that you are currently standing on the sovereign ground of my people. Should our rights and our neutrality be violated, we will retaliate immediately, as is our right. I will not warn you again. Furthermore, this meeting is not of your concern since you are not a member of the Prince family. Therefore, I ask you to leave.”

While Dumbledore refrained from fully drawing his wand, he did not step back, although it was clear that he did not appreciate being addressed so plainly without the usual myriad of titles, “While I would normally honour your neutrality, I am afraid that I cannot comply. Not under these circumstances.”

Ignoring the warning of the Goblins, the Lord of the Light pointed his wand at his adversary.

Fractions of a second later, Dumbledore’s wand was flying through the air before the old coot could even utter a single syllable, while two razor-sharp axes, and two equally sharp halberds were pressed at his sides as the four Goblin guards stepped closer. With a swift movement, Ragnok caught the wand, his dark eyes fixated on the disarmed wizard, “You were warned, Mister Dumbledore. Be sure that your actions will have severe consequences given that you violated the neutral ground you are standing on. Now, leave.”

Being the stubborn man who he was, who believed to be above such petty laws, Dumbledore did not step back, “You are wrong. The only one who will answer for their crimes is you. Not only did you just attack a member of the Wizengamot, but you are also holding a wand, which you are prohibited to do. Furthermore, you are protecting a wanted war criminal-”

“ _Mon dieu!_ ” Madame Delacour exclaimed as she rose to her feet, as her eyes darted between the Headmaster who was pointing in accusation at his supposed adversary and said, “what is ze meaning of zis, Dumbly-dorr? What are you implying about Thomas? E is a fine young man a-”

She stopped, staring at Dumbledore who had turned very pale at the mention of _Thomas’_ name.

“What did you say is his name?” the Lord of the Light asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“‘is name is Thomas,” Madame Delacour replied, looking slightly confused given the seemingly trivial subject of the question.

“This… this cannot be a coincidence,” Dumbledore whispered more to himself than anyone else, staring at the Dark Lord before turning to address Ragnok, “we must inform the Aurors immediately. Otherwi-”

“Have you lost your mind?” Auberée de la Roche’s accent-free voice boomed through the office as she, too, rose to her feet positioning herself between Dumbledore and Tom, not wavering the slightest, nor trying to hide the venom in her voice, “the Prince family was fleeing **from** the Dark Lord Voldemort and not **with** the Dark Lord Voldemort. His family spent the last decade hiding from the very man you are accusing Thomas here to be. He has suffered enough as it is in the last few days without your accusations, losing both his parents and being treated rather poorly in the horrible orphanage he was placed in. Before you start questioning his identity again, we have confirmed his identity twice. He is Thomas Nero Prince and nobody else. Madame Delacour, the _Chef Adjoint du Département de la Famille_ of our Ministry, both Zordrak and Ragnok here as well as myself, Auberée de la Roche, Senior Auror, can attest to that. For someone who is supposed to care for children, your behaviour tells a different story.”

“How dare you!” Dumbledore spat, having lost all his grandfatherly charm as he angrily pointed his finger in Tom’s direction, who was sinking deeper in his chair, beginning to shake as fear contorted his face, “you are blind to his manipulation. You-”

The shouting match between Dumbledore and the two French witches, who were occasionally joined by Ragnok and Zordrak, that followed was amusing to say the least. Given the fragments of emotions that he felt through the link, Tom knew that Harry was sharing the feeling, although to the outside it appeared like he was following the _conversation,_ if one might call it that, with eyes open wide, clearly in shock because of the Headmaster’s behaviour.

Severus, too, was watching the scene, his watchful onyx eyes taking in the scene, his face impassive and unreadable. Somewhere along the line when Madame Delacour had wildly gesticulated at the family tree of _Thomas Nero Prince,_ the Potions Master had quietly approached the desk of Ragnok to inspect the piece of parchment himself, occasionally glancing at his supposed cousin twice removed. In a rare moment of silence between the two parties, the Lord of the Prince family cleared his throat, “Ragnok, can you confirm that this family tree is indeed real.”

Before Dumbledore could interfere, the Goblin quickly answered, “Yes, Lord Prince. I administered the Inheritance Potion myself and conducted the ritual personally. There is no doubt that young Thomas here is a member of your family.”

“No,” Dumbledore exclaimed, “he must have falsified the results of the Inheritance Ritual with his Dark Magi-”

“How dare you question our capabilities,” Ragnok hissed, glaring at the Headmaster, “Mister Dumbledore, I have personally conducted the Inheritance Ritual. Thomas Prince had no way of influencing the resul-”

“Then you must have assisted him,” the Lord of the Light spoke, “you and your people have always supported criminals under your supposed banner of neutral-”

“Unbelievable!” Auberée de la Roche finally snapped, “never in my life have I ever heard such unjustified accusations! Never! You should be ashamed of yourself, Monsieur Dumbledore. We can all attest to the authenticity of Thomas’ past. Therefo-”

“That is incorrect, Miss de la Roche,” the Lord of the Light interrupted her, “neither I nor Severus were present during the proceedings. Unlike you, I did not _witness_ this supposed Inheritance Ritual. Because of that, I demand to personally supervise the confirmation of _Thomas Prince’s_ claimed identi-”

“You demand?” Ragnok sneered, “you are in no position to demand anything, Mister Dumbledore. Unless the Lord of the Prince family personally wishes to repeat the Inheritance Ritual, I am afraid that I can not comply with your _demand._ ”

For a moment, the office was silent.

“Wou… would it he… help if I… I were to willingly offer to par… participate,” the Dark Lord stuttered, letting himself sink deeper in his chair under the intense gaze of the many eyes that were suddenly focussed on his meagre frame.

“Thomas, you ‘ave already done enough,” Madame Delacour said, placing a calming hand on his shaking shoulder, “you ‘ave given you blood enough as it is.”

“Offering your blood would certainly help us,” Severus’ familiar drawl echoed through the office, his gaze shifting between his supposed cousin twice removed and the Headmaster, “I would like to take you up on your offer, although I certainly do not want to force you, Thomas.”

Poking his finger for the third time today, the Dark Lord carefully squeezed his blood on yet another sheet of empty parchment before handing Ragnok the needle. Feeling the suspicious eyes of the Headmaster on him, he refrained from checking if the Goblin was properly cleaning the sharp metal object. Since _Thomas Nero Prince_ was mostly unaware of the finer workings of the Wizarding world, it would only arouse suspicion if he was suddenly displaying any signs of paranoia regarding his blood. Thankfully, Dumbledore’s attention soon shifted as Ragnok began to concentrate his magic on the blood-stained parchment.

His face contorted in concentration, the Goblin pushed forth his magic. The Dark Lord could sense that it was considerably more than during his first attempt to activate the Inheritance Ritual a couple of hours earlier. Crossing his fingers that the use of such an unusual amount of magic would go unnoticed, Tom kept his eyes on the parchment, hoping that Dumbledore was oblivious to the finer details of the ritual. Unfortunately, luck was not on their side as the Lord of the Light cleared his throat, staring at the Goblin, “What did you do? The Inheritance Ritual requires far less magic to work. Did you manipula-”

“ _Mon dieu!”_ Madame Delacour exclaimed once more, shaking her head as she stared at the old coot, “again wiz ze accusations. Zey are ‘aving trouble wiz ze Adansonia Leaf Extract due to ze declining quality of zeir Madagascan suppliers. Zus, ze Inheritance Ritual requires more magic to work. I ‘ave witnessed countless rituals in ze last few months and can attest to zat. I can swear on my magic if you want.”

“Is that true?” Dumbledore asked, ignoring the lines on the paper for now in favour of the two Goblins in the office.

“Of course,” Ragnok sneered, although a bit defensively, while reaching for one of the many drawers of his desk, producing a small vial filled with a chartreuse substance that was still sealed with wax, “to calm your nerves, you can of course test the Madagascan Adansonia Leaf Extract.”

Just as Dumbledore was about to grab the sealed vial out of Ragnok’s hand, the Goblin added, a feral grin plastered on his face, “Of course, it comes with a price since the extract is quite expensive. Shall the 94 Galleons and 14 Sickles be taken out of your personal vault, Mister Dumbledore?”

In the back, Auberée de la Roche quietly snorted as the Headmaster grudgingly consented to charge his personal account before pocketing the Adansonia Leaf Extract. For a long time, Tom had suspected that the Hogwarts funds were being used not just for new furniture, books, chalk, and the salary of its staff but Dumbledore’s personal agendas. In the presence of that many watchful eyes, the old coot obviously did not dare to use the school’s vault.

Once the vial had disappeared out of sight, Dumbledore’s eyes finally focussed on the parchment which was now covered with a myriad of names, the name _Thomas Nero Prince_ at its centre. The longer the Headmaster stared at the family tree, the wider his eyes grew. When he finally looked up, the Dark Lord was finding it rather difficult to keep a straight face.

“I require my wand back,” Dumbledore finally said, clearly not bothering to voice the obvious request any nicer.

“Why?” Ragnok asked, one eyebrow raised in question and clear suspicion, “you already violated our neutrality once. Why should I follow your _kind demand_?”

“I just want to check the family tree myself,” Dumbledore answered, refraining from employing his trademark twinkle in favour of a more demanding and serious expression.

“Still suspicious,” Auberée de la Roche chuckled, shaking her head in incomprehension of Dumbledore’s behaviour. Pretending to not have overheard the comment, the Headmaster kept staring at the two Goblins. Given their stoic, unrelenting demeanour, he eventually added a quick ‘please’, although it seemed like uttering the single word was causing physical pain.

“You will get your wand back. Under one condition,” Ragnok finally said, twirling the piece of wood between his fingers, fixating the Headmaster with cold and calculating eyes that left no room for protest, “should this wand be used for anything other than checking my _questionable_ work, you will be incapacitated immediately. Is that understood, Mister Dumbledore?”

Grudgingly, the Headmaster agreed to the terms, although the four armoured guards were watching his every movement with suspicion. Before long, the returned wand was moving over the family tree in complicated, yet silent movements. Realising what the old coot was doing, the Dark Lord relaxed, although refraining from doing so outwardly. Since Dumbledore was only searching for faults within the family tree, Tom was sure that his search would turn out inconclusive. After all, this was the real family tree of the true Thomas Nero Prince which had been magically attached to the Dark Lord. All Ragnok had done was to make sure that this specific family tree appeared on the parchment and not the one of Tom Marvolo Riddle. Therefore, he had technically not interfered with nor modified the Inheritance Ritual in the way Dumbledore was suspecting.

“Can we finally confirm that Thomas is who he claims to be?” a clearly exasperated Auberée de la Roche asked a few minutes later, one eye narrowed as she stared at the Headmaster.

“So far, I could not find any faults,” Dumbledore said, although it was very clear that he was not happy with the assertion nor that he believed in his words.

“Finally,” the French Auror sighed, trying very hard to not roll her eyes.

Seemingly shaken out of his stupor by the words of Auberée de la Roche, Severus finally averted his eyes from the Headmaster and the family tree. Without sparing Dumbledore another glance, the Lord of the Prince family finally approached the newly discovered member of his family for the first time, kneeling in front of his cousin twice removed, “Hello, Thomas. First of all, I, Severus Snape, Lord of the Prince family, offer you my sincere condolences for your recent loss. While I am glad to meet a long-lost member of my family, I wish the circumstances would be different. Sadly, neither of us can change the past. Still, we can hope to make the best out of it in the days to come.”

At the end of his introduction, the usually meticulously impassive mask of the Potion Master had morphed into something akin to an encouraging smile.

“Tha… Thank you, Lo.. Lord Prince,” the Dark Lord stuttered, squirming slightly under the friendly onyx eyes of his opposite.

“You may call me Severus,” the Potions Master offered. Before he could say more, Dumbledore once again directed all the attention in the room on himself, “Actually, I had not finished yet. I have a few questions for Auror de la Roche, Madame Delacour, and the two involved representatives of Gringotts which I am sure you would be interested to hear before the start of the official proceedings, Severus.”

Neither Ragnok and Zordrak nor the two French witches looked excited at the prospect to interact any longer with the old coot given the lengthy silence that followed.

“If you ‘ave to,” Madame Delacour finally said, “go a’ead. Ask us whatever you want to know.”

“I had hoped for a more private setting,” Dumbledore asked, his eyes hovering over the Dark Lord for a brief moment, “I think Thomas has been through enough as it is, not needing to relive his past again. Especially not so soon.”

Somehow, Tom guessed that the French witches only agreed to the interrogation – there was no better word to describe what Dumbledore wanted to do – in order to speed up the proceedings at least a bit, while the Goblins had openly voiced their disapproval and had once again reminded the Headmaster that the discovery of a member of the Prince family was not of his concern. In the end, Ragnok gestured to the adults to follow him to a nearby office.

On their way out, they were passed by a fast raven-haired figure, stopping in front of the Dark Lord, “Hi! You are Thomas, right?”

After a quick confirmation, his equal continued, “I am Harry. I live with Severus. He is my godfather. Nice to meet you, although I have to agree with Severus that the circumstances of our first meeting could have been better. I am really sorry what happened to you and your fami-”

“Harry, my boy,” Dumbledore’s voice boomed through the office accompanied by his trademark twinkle, which mysteriously had returned, “I think it would be better for you to wait outside the office until we are finish-”

“Do you think now that the Dark Lord Voldemort disguised himself as a member of the Prince family just to get the best shot at killing Harry Potter at the next best opportunity?” Auberée de la Roche snorted, her words laced with sarcasms, “I think they can stay alone for a minute. Or are you planning to interrogate us for the next few hours?”

“Auror de la Roche, I merely have questions,” Dumbledore replied, trying to keep his voice calm, although it was very clear what he thought of the French witch, “I merely wish to prevent any sorts of accidents that could happen when two young boys are alone.”

“I can stay wiz them,” Madame Delacour offered, “Auberée was wiz Thomas the longest. Therefore, she can answer everything and certainly more zan I could.”

Grudgingly agreeing to the compromise, all adults bar Madame Delacour left. Once the door had been closed, words continued to bubble out of Harry’s mouth, while Madame Delacour simply retook her seat, opting to simply stay in the background observing.

“Are you really THE Harry Potter?” Tom asked, his voice barely above a whisper once Harry had finished the remainder of his introduction, “the one who vanquished You-Know-Who?”

“Yes, I am,” his equal replied, shrugging his shoulders, “although I am not sure what exactly happened. I was barely over a year old at that time. Therefore, I doubt that I had much to do with it and prefer to be _just Harry_ and not the figure the media paints me to be.”

“Okay, _just Ha… Harry,_ ” Tom tried to smile, “ha… have you a… always live with Lor… Severus ever… ever since…?”

“No,” Harry quickly answered, “before last summer, I was unaware that I even had godparents. Instead, I was living with my aunt’s family.”

“Why… why not anymore?” Tom asked.

“They are Muggles… Non-magical folk,” Harry sighed before going on to explain, “they did not like me very much because of my freakishness as they called my magic and thus treated me rather badly… I was forced to cook, clean, and do the gardening, while never receiving anything in return... Barely enough food, no room of my own, no fitting clothes… Only very unpleasant words, and regular beatings to free me of my freakishness… To this day, I have no idea why I was placed there, and no one ever checked on me… When I got my Hogwarts letter, Severus was the one to explain everything about the Wizarding world to me. He was rather shocked about my living conditions…. He took me to Diagon Alley, the magical district of London, and Gringotts. There, we found out that he was my Godfather. After getting to know each other at Hogwarts over the last year where Severus teaches Potions, I decided to live with him since I like him, and I really wanted to get away from those Muggles. He has been really nice to me since I moved in with him.”

The expression of disbelief, anger, and outrage on the face of Madame Delacour of the obvious neglect of the British Ministry of magical children, especially the famous Boy-Who-Lived did not go unnoticed. Pretending to be oblivious to the reaction of the French witch, Tom continued with his act, “I… I am so… sorry to… to hear that… Muggles are just so cruel when it comes to things they do not understand… I am glad that you got out of there and found a real home…”

“Hopefully,” Harry smiled, “you will soon find a new home, too. I would not mind living with you. You seem nice.”

All Tom could do was nod in answer as he sank back in his chair, while his lips curled into a faint smile.

“It is alright,” Harry finally said, patting the Dark Lord’s arm, “I am sure that Severus will help you. Although he might seem a bit unapproachable on the outside, he always makes sure to help magical children as much as he can.”

Staring at Harry with big hopeful eyes, Tom leaned forwards, “Does he really teach Potions?”

“Yes, he does” his Equal answered, “but he also creates lots of new Potions. After all, he is the youngest Potions Master in history.”

“Really?” the Dark Lord inquired.

Over the next hour or so, they talked about the Lord of the Prince family, their passion for Potions, other subjects they enjoyed, especially Defence, Charms, and Runes, Hogwarts, Wizarding Britain, and even flying. Seeing how well the two young wizards appeared to be getting along, Madame Delacour eventually produced a book out of the depths of her robe and began reading, a smile on her face.

They had just started talking about Diagon Alley, when the door of Ragnok’s office was opened, revealing the two Goblins, a clearly exasperated Auberée de la Roche, and Severus. The latter entered the room without further ado, stopping in front of the Dark Lord, “Thomas, I am really sorry that you were kept waiting for so long. I am afraid that Professor Dumbledore is a rather suspicious individual. You somehow reminded him of the Dark Lord of the British Isles when he was a student under Professor Dumbledore. For me, there is no doubt his suspicions are unfounded. You look like a proper Prince, and the results of the Inheritance Ritual clearly confirm the impression."

“Whe… where is he?” Tom asked, his voice trembling slightly.

“Once he finally stopped questioning the facts,” Auberée de la Roche sighed as she took her seat next to Madame Delacour, “we _agreed_ that his presence was not _needed_ for the remainder of the proceedings. Anyway, did the two behave, Apolline? Or did you have to stop them killing each other?”

“No, zey are both lovely boys,” Madame Delacour laughed.

“Good,” the French Auror replied, “Lord Prince, the floor is all yours.”

Once again, Severus gracefully let himself fall on his knees, his eyes on the same level as those of his cousin twice removed, “Thomas, as I wanted to tell you before we were interrupted, I am glad to meet you despite the very unfortunate circumstances. We are family after all. Because of our connection and my firm belief that magical children deserve to grow up amongst those who understand and cherish them, I offer you a place in my home, where we can get to know each other.”

After the Potions Master had finished, _Thomas Nero Prince_ appeared to be at loss for words.

“My dear,” Auberée de la Roche finally broke the silence, “we all know that you have just met. You certainly do not have to make this decision right now. You have all the ti-”

“Will Harry also be there?” Tom suddenly asked, looking at the Potions Master with hope-filled eyes.

For a moment, Severus appeared to be slightly confused by the question before he answered, “Yes, Harry also lives with me. At least, when we are not at Hogwarts. Since I am also his Head of House, I can be there for him even during the school year.”

“Well…” the Dark Lord said, seemingly carefully contemplating about his next words, “I… I… I think I want to accept your offer… You seem sincere from what I can tell… You are family after all… The last that I have left… And I really enjoyed talking to Harry…”

“Are you sure, Thomas?” Auberée de la Roche asked, one eyebrow raised.

Straightening his back, Tom answered, “ _Oui, Madame._ ”

Over the next couple of hours, the paperwork was completed. Again, the Dark Lord was very surprised how thorough the regulations of the French Ministry were. For the first three months, Severus would only serve as the temporal guardian while Madame Delacour as representative of the Ministère des Affaires Magiques would supervise that _Thomas_ was treated well. Only if _Thomas_ did not voice his disapproval, Severus would become his full guardian after the end of the third month. Besides sorting out the forms of the temporal guardianship, the Lord of the Prince estate had also insisted to add his cousin twice removed as an official member of the Prince family, much to the delight of the two Goblins. Once the final document had been signed, both Ragnok and Zordrak congratulated the Dark Lord.

“Finally,” Auberée de la Roche smiled once the Goblins had finished, “Thomas, I wish you all the best with your new family.”

“ _Merci, Madame,_ ” Tom replied, the corners of his mouth curling into a shy smile.

“Still, I want you to know that we are always there for you,” the Auror continued, pointing at the sealed letter in _Thomas’_ pocket which could be only opened by the young wizard himself, keyed to his blood as a means to contact the French Ministry in case of an emergency, “do not refrain from contacting us. Whenever you need help, we will help you, regardless of the problem.”

“ _Je vous remercie, Auberée_ ,” the Dark Lord said, not even pretending to fake the gratitude in his words since it was real.

“ _Vous êtes les bienvenus, Thomas,”_ the French witch smiled, ruffling his hair before turning to her companion, continuing in French, “ _Apolline, unless you have something to add, I think Thomas here is in good hands. Shall we return to France?”_

 _“Actually, I have something to add,”_ the Chef Adjoint du Département de la Famille said, switching back to English as her attention shifted to Severus, “if zis adoption should and ‘opefully will work out, am I right to assume zat Thomas will be attending ‘ogwarts?”

“Most likely,” the Potions Master answered.

“ _Je comprends_ ,” Madame Delacour said, trying to keep her voice free of emotions, “in zat case, I want you to know, Thomas, zat we can arrange for you to transfer to Beauxbâtons should you for whatever reasons-”

The name ‘Dumbledore’ remained unsaid.

“-feel uncomfortable at ‘ogwarts. Ze same also applies to you, ‘arry Potter. Both of you are always welcome at Beauxbâtons.”

At the raised eyebrow of Severus, she quickly added, “Zis ‘as of course nozing to do wiz you, Lord Prince.”

“No offence taken,” the Potions Master quickly replied.

Once they had been led to the Floo room of the Goblin bank, Auberée de la Roche and Madame Delacour turned to Tom to properly bid farewell.

“Thomas, I wish you all the best and ‘ope zat you will be ‘appy ‘ere in Britain,” Madame Delacour said. Once Tom had smiled back at her, Auberée de la Roche ruffled his hair one last time, “May your future be bright, my dear.”

“Thank you for everything,” the Dark Lord replied, accompanied by a genuine smile, “can you convey my thanks to Henry?”

“Of course,” the Auror laughed, “just do not forget to write to him.”

Moments later, the two French witches were gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since this chapter was getting longer and longer, I decided to post it in two parts. The next one will be online soon.


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